


I Just Haven't Met You Yet

by eating_custardinbed



Series: Always On My Mind (aka the Michael Buble series) [1]
Category: IT Crowd
Genre: Amsterdam, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Death, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Flashbacks, Getting Together, Heartbreak, I know, I promise you it does get better, Implied Sexual Content, In a way, M/M, Memories, Moss' p.o.v, POV Third Person, Parent Death, Sadness, Songfic, based on a trashy Michael Buble song, but also happiness, but mostly Roy, on both sides a bit, relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:07:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23984302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eating_custardinbed/pseuds/eating_custardinbed
Summary: **inspired by the song 'Haven't Met You Yet' by Michael Buble'**Maurice Moss has experienced enough heartbreak for more than one lifetime. But deep down, he knows that everything will be okay eventually. He doesn't know when, and he doesn't know how, but he knows that there's someone out there for him.He just hasn't met them yet.**SEQUEL "everything (is what you are to me" IS OUT NOW**
Relationships: Maurice Moss/OFC, Maurice Moss/OMC, Maurice Moss/Roy Trenneman
Series: Always On My Mind (aka the Michael Buble series) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1990795
Comments: 63
Kudos: 61





	1. Fish Don't Last Forever

**Author's Note:**

> Because I have no impulse control, this exists. Please enjoy the fruits of my bored lockdown brain. 
> 
> Chapters will vary in length, ranging from around 1K words to maybe 7/8K for the heavier ones. Updates will be every two days (hopefully) since it's not like I have anything else to do. 
> 
> This chapter is beta-ed by the lovely @Demonic_Angel_511 as always, who told me earlier "I like it when you send me IT Crowd stuff, because I know it's not going to be full-on angst". Thank you for putting up with my crazy ramblings and beta-ing fic for a fandom you're not in for a pairing I've accidentally got you invested in. You're the best!

The first time Moss remembers getting his heart broken is at the tender age of four. 

In fact, it’s one of his first coherent memories. There are others, of course, but this one stands out. The goldfish had been a beautiful brilliant orange colour, the sort of orange that was simply luminescent in the right light. Moss had had the fish for as long as he could remember. Its tank stood in the corner of his bedroom, a big glass bowl filled with colourful stones and sparkling clear water that he wasn’t allowed to move without his mum there. Sometimes, when he got bored, he would drag the chair over from his little desk and sit in front of the tank, watching his fish swim around, darting in and out of his tiny castle, weaving through the plastics plants, occasionally bumping into the glass of the tank. He particularly used to enjoy watching it eat, its mouth going _glub glub glub_ as it bobbed up for the nasty-smelling flakes his mother sprinkled in with a teaspoon. 

One morning, though, when he got up and excitedly bounded over to the tank to say good morning to his fish, as was his routine, the fish wasn’t swimming around like normal. In fact, it was floating, belly facing upwards, on the top of the water. The four-year-old Moss tilted his head to the side, glancing quickly towards the landing to check that his mother wasn’t there before reaching up on his tiptoes and rapping his knuckles gently against the glass. A ripple went through the water, but the fish only rocked a little. 

When he looks back on it, Moss thinks that he must have instinctively known that the fish was never going to swim again. His four year old brain refused to acknowledge this possibility though, which is what sent him barrelling downstairs and tugging at his mother’s sleeve as she was cooking breakfast. 

“Maurice, sweetie, I’m a bit busy,” she said, not even looking down at him. “I’m making breakfast.” 

“Mum!” he shouted as furiously as he could at that age. That did make his mother look down: at four, Moss barely spoke, only the odd word or two and very rarely in full sentences. 

“Sweetie?” she asked, turning the hob off and kneeling down so she was at eye level with him. “What’s wrong?” 

Taking her hand, he made her follow him up the stairs and into his bedroom. When they were there, he pointed at the fish bowl and pouted. 

“Fish no move,” he complained, stamping his foot. 

He’s never forgotten the look on his mother’s face. At the time, he didn’t know what it meant, but as he got older he realised it was the look of pure panic and indecision. They both stood, staring at the floating fish for a good minute before his mother took his hand and led him to his bed. She sat down on the edge of it, lifted him up and sat him on her knee. He looked up at her, eyes wide behind his chunky glasses. 

“Sweetie, the fish…” she said. She had to stop, and he furrowed his brow a little. “The fish is dead.” 

He tilted his head questioningly. Dead? What did dead mean? 

“Dead,” he repeated. She nodded, her eyes soft and sympathetic. “What dead?” 

“It means that the fish had gone away,” she explained. “It’s gone to live in heaven.” 

Now that he could understand. There was a part of his brain that was telling him that the fish couldn’t have gone away, because he could see it, but his thoughts were dominated by the fact that he didn’t _want_ the fish to have gone away. He quite liked it, and watching it swim around were some of the most calming parts of his day. Tears started to form in his eyes, and he screwed his face up, bursting into tears. His mother pulled him into a hug, holding him close and stroking his hair as he cried himself out. She murmured reassurances to him, but he knew that none of that was going to bring his fish back to life. 

“We’ll give it a lovely burial this afternoon,” she whispered to him as his sobs started to taper off a little. He looked up at her, but she was all blurry and he couldn’t see her properly. She took his glasses off for him and lovingly wiped the tears from his face. “Then we can go into town and get a new one.” 

“No!” Moss yelled. He shook his head so hard that his ears started to ring a little bit, and didn’t stop until his mother caught his head between her hands, forcing him to stay still. 

“Why not?” she asked. Moss simply tried to shake his head again. 

“No!” he repeated. 

“Okay, it’s okay, we don’t have to,” she said soothingly. He stopped trying to move his head, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. He leant into her, resting his head on her shoulder and sighing as heavily as a four-year-old can sigh. She picked him up, balancing him on her hip and carrying him downstairs with her. She mouthed something to his father, who was sitting on the sofa reading his newspaper, before putting him down next to him and disappearing into the kitchen. 

Moss knelt up on the sofa, hanging off the edge of it as he tried to see into the kitchen. His father gently pulled him back, sitting him on his knee. 

“So the fish died, then,” his father said. Moss had always found his father’s deep voice very calming. It vibrated through everything in the nearby vicinity, and always sounded assured and confident. Moss nodded, absent-mindedly starting to chew on his thumbnail. His father took his hand from his mouth, holding it in his. “What are you going to do with it?” 

With his free hand, Moss mimed digging, and then he pointed towards the garden. His father made a small _ahh_ noise, nodding. 

“Still not talking?” he asked. Moss shook his head. “That’s alright,” his father continued. “That’s what you have to remember, Maurice. You have to give so much more than you get.” His father pulled him into a hug, and Moss returned it. He always used to return his father’s hugs. They made him feel… safe. Like nothing could ever hurt him. “I promise you, kid, I’ll always give you everything.” 

Somehow, the matter of the dead fish didn’t seem to hurt as much anymore. His father was clever at mending heartbreaks like that.


	2. Unfortunately, Neither Do People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I nearly cried writing this. I am so sorry, but I promise it will not get as sad as this again. That being said, please enjoy this and stay tuned for the next chapter!
> 
> Thank you as always to my wonderful beta @Demonic_Angel_511 for putting up with me

Nothing in the world could compare to the pain of Moss’ second heartbreak. 

The memory was still as clear as the day it happened, and he was almost entirely certain that it would stay that way for the rest of his life. He had been in class. They had been doing maths. The rest of the class were sitting on the carpet doing something or other, but Moss was sitting in his seat, doing more advanced times tables. He loved maths. With maths, you were either right or you were wrong. There wasn’t room for interpretation like there was in English. No, numbers were much easier. He spent most of his lessons sitting on his own, with his own work. The teachers always used to say about how clever he was when his parents came in for parents’ evening. Or at least, his mum said they did. 

He was so absorbed in his work that he didn’t hear the knock on the door, or the receptionist poke her head in and ask for him. He didn’t hear the teacher call for him. He only looked up when the teaching assistant who was always next to him nudged him and put her hand over his sheet of paper. 

“Need to finish,” he said, looking up at her pleadingly. She smiled softly at him, but shook her head. The receptionist was standing there as well, his coat and his bag in her hands. 

“Your mum’s here to collect you,” the teaching assistant said. Before he could ask any questions, he was being led out of the classroom, through the Year One classroom and into the reception area. He spotted his mother almost immediately. She was standing by the door, like she was itching to leave, talking to the other receptionist. 

She looked like she was crying. 

Moss ran up to her, jumping over the two small steps in his eagerness. When she saw him, she stopped talking and made a strange choked sound, pressing her hand over her mouth. He stopped dead in his tracks, confused. The receptionist put her arms around her, giving him a sympathetic look. 

“Mummy?” he said, taking a step towards her. 

“Oh my sweet baby,” she cried, flying forward and enveloping him in her arms. He squirmed, but she didn’t let him go like she normally did. When she finally let him go, there was a patch on his jumper and her cheeks were streaked with tears. “We have to go.” 

“Why?” he asked. The receptionist who was standing by his mother made a small noise, clutching her hands to her chest. 

“I’ll explain on the way, baby,” his mother said as she grabbed his stuff from the teaching assistant and then took his hand. 

“Just remember we’re all here for you,” the receptionist said, reaching forward and squeezing her shoulder. She nodded, sniffing back tears. Moss opened his mouth to ask another question, but before he could, his mother was whisking him out of the school and into the waiting cab. 

“What’s happening?” he said in his most authoritative voice (the one he’d copied from his father) once the cab was off and moving. His mother was staring out of the window. She wasn’t looking at him, and barely seemed to be listening. “Mummy, where are we going?” 

“The hospital, baby,” she replied. Still she didn’t look at him. 

“Why?” 

His mother made a small strangled sound and turned to him. Now that he was closer, he could see that her eyes were puffy and slightly red around the edges. 

“Do you remember your fish from a couple of years ago?” she asked. Moss nodded. There was a heavy, queasy feeling growing in the pit of his stomach, and it wasn’t his normal motion sickness.”Well, sometimes people have to go away too.” 

“Is Dad--” he started fearfully, but his mother cut him off. 

“No, no. But… he might go away,” she said gently. She stopped for a moment, putting her hand over her mouth. He watched as she took a few deep breaths, steadying herself. “He said he wanted to see you.” 

“Why would he want to see me?” Moss asked, the words escaping his mouth before he could stop them. Yet again, his mother pulled him into a hug, holding him close to her. 

“Your father loves you _so_ much,” she whispered. “Never forget that, Maurice Moss. Your father loves you more than anything on this earth.” 

Desperate for reassurance, he clutched at his mother. At six years old, he was starting to have a decent grasp of what “going away”, in that sense. Some people’s dads went away, but they were still there. They just lived somewhere else. This type of “going away” meant a person was _gone_. Fin. Last year, Christopher, a boy in his class, had had his grandma “go away”. He said when he came into school about a week later that they had put her in a big box and put her in a fire, although Mr Shingler had made him stop talking after that. 

Were they going to put his dad in a big box and put him in a fire? 

The cab slowed to an abrupt halt, pulling him from his thoughts. He picked up his bag before his mother could, knowing instinctively that he should try and be helpful. She smiled at him, ruffling his hair as she leant over to pay the driver. They clambered out of the cab, she took his hand and they went into the hospital. 

At six, this was Moss’ second time in a hospital. When he was three, he had sliced his lip open and had had to get it glued back together. He had little memory of it and only a very small scar as a reminder. This part of the hospital, though, was big and imposing, with high ceilings and endless amounts of white. He stuck close to his mother, nearly tripping over her as they walked towards the reception desk. 

“What room is Gerald Moss in?” she asked when the receptionist asked her how she could help. 

“Are you family?” the receptionist replied. 

“I’m his wife.” 

The receptionist nodded, typing on her chunky office computer for a moment. She opened her mouth to say the room number, but then she spotted Moss clutching to his mother’s leg. 

“We don’t usually let children in…” she said, her voice apologetic but her face completely neutral. “We have a room where he can wait, but--” 

His mother covered his ears with her hands, but that didn’t stop him from hearing as she hissed, 

“My husband is _dying_ and his final wish is to be able to see his only child one last time! I was told this could be permitted under the circumstances, don’t you?” 

The receptionist nodded, looking scared as she told them that his father was in Room 7 on the cardiology ward. His mother nodded firmly, took her hands from his ears, glared at the receptionist and led him away and into the lift. 

As they stood in that lift, listening to some trashy jazz hit from twenty years ago, Moss contemplated telling his mother that he had heard what she’d said. He watched her though, and once he saw her trying so hard to hold it together for him, he decided that it would be best to keep it to himself. 

The lift pinged and the doors slid open. Suddenly, Moss was hit by a wave of apprehension. He didn’t _want_ to walk down that horrible uninviting corridor and see his father with tubes and wires in him like those people on the helicopter program his mum let him watch with her when he couldn’t sleep. He stood, frozen in place, watching his mother leave the lift. When he didn’t follow, she turned back and tugged on his hand. He shook his head, letting out a small whimper. Shaking her head, she did her best to smile at him as she picked him up and carried him down the corridor. He squirmed and kicked, doing his darn best to get out of her arms, but she was strong and he fell still as they reached Room 7. 

Moss couldn’t bear to watch as they walked in. He buried his face in his mother’s shoulder, holding onto her as tightly as he could. He could hear machines whirring away, and a beeping noise too. Other than that, the room was deathly silent. 

“I brought Maurice, Jerry,” his mother murmured. Moss waited, listening for his father’s response. His father had taught him that you always responded to someone, because it would be rude not to. 

The response never came. 

Then his mother was putting him down, sitting him down on what must have been the bed. His eyes were screwed tightly shut. He didn’t want to be here. Maybe, if he kept his eyes closed, he wouldn’t have to see it… 

Of course, he did open his eyes in the end. His father was in a reclined position, his eyes closed. There was an oxygen mask covering his mouth and nose, but he wasn’t attached to as many wires as Moss had feared. With a strange sort of curiosity, Moss crept forward, reaching out and resting his hand over his father’s. Part of him expected his father’s eyes to open, and for him to reach forward and start tickling him like he normally did, but he didn’t move at all. Disappointed, Moss took his hand away, sitting cross-legged on the bed facing his father. 

“Why don’t you tell him about your day?” his mother prompted with a smile from where she was sat on an uncomfortable-looking chair next to the bed. “You know he loves it when you do that.” 

Moss nodded, turning back to his father. 

“Um, we did English after the register,” he said. “Miss Kelly told us to write a story about going to the seaside, because she said it’s summer now, even though I _told_ her summer doesn’t start until June and it’s only May, but she said that it doesn’t really matter. I wrote about when--when we went to the seaside and it started hailing and we had to run into those plastic shelters. D’you remember, Dad? We played frisbee on the beach and you nearly hit those old people! And we had ice cream and fish and chips, and… and… oh, and I did maths! I did times tables because Miss Kelly said I was too clever for what everybody else was doing!” 

Moss said all of this in one go, barely pausing for air. He kept talking and talking and talking, in the flow now. His father never answered or responded, but Moss didn’t mind because deep down he knew that he was listening to him. Somehow, he ended up holding his father’s hand as he talked. 

After about fifteen minutes or so, Moss stopped talking. A little sadly, he watched his father’s unconscious face, scanning it for any signs of movement. There were none, of course. Looking down at their hands, he decided to give something a go. Gently, he squeezed his dad’s hand. 

It took a moment, but sure as you like, his father squeezed his hand back. 

“Mum!” he shouted excitedly. She nodded, trying to surreptitiously dry her eyes as she smiled at him. “Dad squeezed my hand!” 

Her face took on a wide smile, but only for a moment. She looked to his father and then up at the monitors, and her face dropped. 

“Come here, baby,” she said, gesturing to him. Confused, he nodded and hopped down from the bed, going over to her. “I need you to be really grown up and go outside, find an adult and tell them that someone needs to come to Room 7. Can you do that for me?” 

He nodded proudly, giving her a quick hug before he scampered out of the room. Everything seemed much more exciting now as he sprinted down the hallway after spotting a flash of blue uniform. He caught up with the nurse pretty quickly, and tugged on her sleeve. She stopped, looking down and smiling kindly at him. 

“Are you lost, sweetheart?” she asked. He shook his head fervently. 

“My mum sent me,” he said, puffing his chest out and standing as tall as he could. “She said someone needs to come to Room 7.” 

The nurse’s face dropped in the exact way his mother’s had. She stopped whatever she was doing and turned around, running back down the corridor towards his father’s room. Moss was hot on her heels, but just before he could slip back into his room the door was shut on him and then there was clattering and shouting and screams of _“clear!”_ and then…

Nothing. 

***

Their house stayed silent for two weeks afterwards. 

Moss had reverted back to his old non-verbal state. He had only missed three days of school before he wrote his mother an angry all-capitals letter demanding to go back, but he wasn’t in the classroom with the others at all now. He sat in the office with the two lovely receptionists, who doted on him, petting his hair and bringing him biscuits and treats from the kitchen. He tried to smile when they did this, he really did, but he couldn’t force his mouth to move or make his lips make the right shape. Sometimes, he would find himself staring into space and before he realised there were hot tears dripping down his cheeks and there was a comforting arm around his shoulders. 

His mother wasn’t doing much better. She had cried herself to sleep every night since it happened. He knew she was trying to hide it from him, but he heard her through the wall. Sometimes, when she thought he was asleep, he knew she would stand at his door and watch him “sleep”, silent tears rolling down her face. She would speak to him, chatter away when she was making him food or taking him to school, but he knew that she was hurting. Badly. 

His mother had told him that today was the funeral, which was why it was a Wednesday and he wasn’t at school. Instead he was in their living room in his best all-black suit, watching a lot of people he barely knew mill around holding drinks and looking sad. There was a picture of his father on the mantelpiece, but he could hardly bear to look at it. His mother was slumped in his father’s armchair, a glass of what looked like water (but what he came to realise as he grew older was actually gin) in her hand. Occasionally, someone would go up to her and they would make small talk for a couple of minutes, but she was staying alone, it seemed, for most of the time. 

Moss was sitting on the stairs, trying to distract himself from what was happening with the Magic Eight Ball his mother had given him that morning. He wasn’t asking it anything: he was shaking it and trying to work out which response came up the most. 

“How are you, Maurice?” 

He looked up from the Magic Eight Ball to see who was talking to him. It was his grandma from his mum’s side, in her best dress and pearls, handbag hanging off of one arm and an ever-haughty look on her face. She scared him enough at the best of times, let alone now. He shrugged, looking back down to the Ball and giving it a half-hearted shake. 

“Didn’t anybody ever tell you it was rude not to respond!?” 

His grandmother’s words slashed through his mind, dredging up seemingly hundreds of memories of his father as they did so. As he felt the tears, he stood and turned away from her, running up the stairs and into the sanctuary of his room, slamming the door behind him. 

He threw himself onto his bed, burying his head in his pillow and letting out a muffled sob. His father was gone. He was never going to be able to see him again. Never again would he bolt downstairs when he heard the door open at precisely 5:43 p.m., never again would his father hug him and mumble “Hello, mini-Moss” to him. Never again.

There was a creak, and then the mattress dipped and there was a gentle hand on his back. Sniffing, he turned his face away from the pillow to his mother sitting there. There were tears in her eyes but she was smiling at him. 

“It’s time to go, sweetie,” she said quietly. Moss nodded, knowing that he couldn’t get out of it. Lord knows he’s tried. He’d tried crying, he’d tried kicking and screaming, but it always ended with him in his mother’s arms being rocked and soothed, with him slowly dropping off to sleep as she stroked his hair. She reached forward, wiping the tears from his cheeks. “He loves you still, darling. Remember that.” 

He crawled into her lap, letting her hug him and hold him close. After about a minute, he broke away and reached up, wiping away the tears that had fallen on her cheeks as gently as he could. 

“No tears,” he said, echoing his father’s old words so quietly that it was barely audible. She gasped, one hand flying to her mouth as she choked back even more tears. “Dad loves you too.” 

As she hugged him, he reached for the Magic Eight Ball. _Is everything going to be okay,_ he thought as he shook it. 

_Signs point to yes._

***

He went back into normal lessons a week after the funeral. He was nervous, of course, and still mostly non-verbal, so he was only going into these lessons in the mornings. He later found out that whilst he hadn’t been there, the class had had the situation explained to them in the most delicate manner possible and had been instructed to be extra-nice to him. When he walked into the class on the Monday morning, twenty-five eager little faces turned towards him, as well as the sympathetically smiling faces of the teacher and her assistant. 

“It’s lovely to have you back, Maurice,” the teacher said, gesturing for him to come forward. As he did so, he shook his head. 

“I want to be called Moss,” he whispered, staring at the ground. The teacher looked a little surprised, but glanced at the teaching assistant and nodded. 

“Okay,” she said. “Well, it’s lovely to have you back, Moss.” 

Sitting down on the carpet, he glanced upwards.

_Love you, Dad._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry okay. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this, and the next chapter will be out of Thursday (when I get my new laptop!!!!)


	3. Children Can Be Cruel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So looks like we're having a chapter a day early!!! I banged out a three thousand word chapter in a day, please be proud of me!! 
> 
> I kid, I kid.
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy this chapter!!

He managed another year or so before he got his heart broken for a third time. 

In that time, he and his mother had adjusted to life with just the two of them. They’d moved from their house in the suburbs to a much smaller one in the inner city in the summer holidays between Year Three and Four in order to be closer to his mum’s work. That meant changing schools, and leaving behind everything he’d ever known. 

It had been a difficult transition for Moss. The city was perpetually noisy, and there always seemed to be people around. His mother didn’t pick him up from school at the normal time anymore: he spent at least an hour and a half at after school club with ten other kids from across the school. And this new school was much stranger. They’d been around the place in July before the holidays. It was completely different. Even so, he stood tall, knowing that he would be okay. 

When his first day came, though, he was in a very different mindset. 

“No!” he shouted, pulling his bed covers back over his head. 

“Moss, I’m not going to ask you again!” his mother yelled back. She yanked his covers from him, grabbing his arm and trying to pull him from the bed. He responded by glaring at her and trying to kick her arm away. She caught his ankles, holding him still as she sat down on the bed next to him. He tried to kick at her again, but her grip was too strong and he quickly fell still. “What has gotten into you?” 

“I’m not going!” he said with a pout. “You can’t make me! I want to go to my proper school!” 

“Sweetie, you know you can’t do that,” she replied. She let his feet go and he sat up, edging away from her to sit against the wall, crossing his arms across his chest. “You need to speak to me. You know you can tell me anything.” 

“I’m still not going,” he said matter-of-factly. 

“Moss--” 

“I don’t know anyone there!” he exclaimed, fixing his gaze on a spot in the corner of the room. “I’m going to be on my own, and I don’t know if I can do that.” 

“You’re going to have lots of things in your life that you don’t want to do,” she said as she reached over and rested her hand on his arm. “But you can’t just refuse to do them.”

Moss pouted even more, pulling his arm away from her. 

“Fine,” he grumbled. 

“Thank you,” his mother said, getting up from the bed and making her way downstairs. Begrudgingly, Moss followed her, but not without dragging his feet behind him. “What do you want for breakfast?” 

“Not hungry,” he mumbled, grabbing the glass of orange juice that was waiting for him from the side and downing it in one go. His mother sighed heavily. 

“I don’t have time for this, Maurice. What do you want?” 

He ignored her. She’d used the wrong name. He was Moss now.

“Fine, you can go hungry,” she said angrily, not even turning to him. “Go and do your teeth, get changed, and do it _quickly_.” 

Actually, Moss was very hungry, and he wanted nothing more on earth than a slice of toast slathered with raspberry jam, but there was a principle at stake. He ran up the stairs, did his teeth quickly and then changed into his new uniform. 

The jumper was purple. _Purple_ . Even at eight, Moss knew that that was a stupid colour for a school uniform. The polo shirt was an ugly mustard yellow. Both were emblazoned with the school’s logo and name: _Blessed St Peter’s Catholic Primary School_. His old school hadn’t been a faith school. He and his mother didn’t even go to church! When they’d been walking around, though, he’d noticed that there was nobody like him there at all. 

“Give them so much more than you get,” he murmured to himself in the mirror, pushing his glasses up a little. 

“Maurice Michael Moss, you better not be dawdling!” his mother shouted up the stairs. He grabbed his Rubix cube from his bedside table and ran downstairs, slipping it into his backpack before his mother came into the room. She was looking frazzled, straightening her hairdo in the mirror as she handed him his shoes. 

“Have you got everything?” 

He nodded, and then glanced at the clock for the first time that morning. 

“School doesn’t start for an hour,” he said, doing up the last strap on his shoe. “Why are we leaving now?” 

“My hours changed at work,” she replied harriedly. “School has a breakfast club, so you’ll be going there every morning.”

His jaw dropped open in indignation. Breakfast club!? Did his mother not love him anymore? Was he such a burden? He was about to ask her what the ruddy hell she thought she was doing, but then she was bundling him into his coat, they were leaving the house and they were walking the five minutes to the school. 

They were both silent the entire way. Moss was staring smolderingly at the ground, a thousand thoughts running through his head whilst his mother’s gaze was fixed ahead of them. When they got to the school, Moss refused to look up the entire time whilst his mum was signing him into the office. 

“Is this our new student?” a voice in the foyer said. The door opened and in came a jolly-looking teacher, all elbows and joints but with a kindly face. She looked to be about fifty or so. Her name badge read _Mrs Freeman_. “Hi, I’m Mrs Freeman, the Year Four teacher. I’ll be Maurice’s teacher.” 

“Pleased to meet you,” his mother said, taking her outstretched hand and shaking it. “I’m afraid you’ll have to call him Moss, though, or he won’t respond!” 

The two women shared a laugh, which made Moss both baffled and angry at the same time. 

“Do you have a moment to discuss some of the transitional materials?” Mrs Freeman asked. His mum nodded. 

“Of course.” 

Quickly, she knelt down next to him and gave him a hug. “I love you, sweetheart. I’ll pick you up by five, okay?” 

He nodded and she stood back up, giving him a little wave before turning back to Mrs Freeman. The two women began to talk as they walked off in the direction of (presumably) the classrooms. 

Moss was left standing alone. 

He frowned, turning around in a circle and taking in everything around him. There was a crucifix fixed on the wall above the entrance, and there was a display detailing the different books of the Bible and how they were important in everyday life. He could see a door, mainly made of perspex, but he was too nervous to go towards it. In fact, he was about to turn and sprint out of the door when a head poked around the perspex door. It was an older-looking white woman who was smiling at him. She beckoned him forward and he did so shyly. 

“Are you the new boy?” she asked when he reached her. He nodded. “Well come in, then. We won’t bite!” 

He scurried in, and the woman closed the door behind him. She showed him where to put his bag and led him across the room towards the kitchen area. 

“What’s your name, pet?” the woman asked. 

“Moss,” he replied, looking at the kitchen rather than at her. “What’s yours?” 

“I’m Julie,” she said. “You’re going to be with us in the afternoons as well, aren’t you?” 

He nodded, his pout back with a vengeance. Julie saw and laughed a little, ruffling his hair. He did his best not to flinch away. He didn’t understand what people’s obsession with his hair was. Everyone seemed to do it. She grabbed a bowl from the stack that was sitting on the side, holding it out to him. “What do you want? Cornflakes, rice krispies, weetabix?” 

“Um, cornflakes, please,” he whispered. She poured him a bowl, handing it to him and showing him where to sit down. There were only three other people in the room at that time: an older-looking kid who he would have guessed to be ten or eleven reading in the corner and two reception-aged children playing in the corner. “Is anyone else coming?” 

“Yes, we usually have about twenty people in the morning,” Julie said. She sat down next to him, taking a cereal bar from her pocket. They ate together in silence for a few minutes. Moss wasn’t really eating, though, just pushing the cornflakes around his bowl and eating the occasional spoonful. Julie crushed her packet in her hand, turning to him with a smile. “So what brings you to join us here at St Peter’s?” 

“My mum and I moved here during the summer,” he said. He really wanted to run and grab his Rubix cube, just so his hands had something to do, but he knew that would be impolite. Instead he lay his hands flat on the table, doing his best to look at her face at least. “Mum said that my old school was too far, so I have to come here.”

“How come you moved?” Julie said. 

“Mum’s work. Needed to be closer.” 

“What about Dad?” 

He shook his head and dropped his spoon, pursing his lips as he looked down, trying to sniff back the tears. He just about managed, but when he looked back up, he saw that Julie was looking both sympathetic and horrified, although Moss guessed that she was feeling horrified at herself. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--” 

“It’s fine,” Moss said quickly. Julie smiled sadly at him, squeezing his shoulder and grabbing his bowl from the table. 

“You’ve got half an hour until you can go outside, honey,” she said. “Make yourself at home.” 

And off she went! Moss jumped up, running over to his backpack and getting his Rubix cube out of it. He settled on the bench next to the bag area, letting his thoughts quieten and focus on the cube. He was getting good at it now, able to solve it in about five minutes or so. He wasn’t supposed to take it to school, because his mum said he got distracted, but he’d taken it in all through the summer term and nobody had mentioned it to him. 

He’d solved the cube three times when he was approached. 

“Alright?” the boy said. Moss looked up quickly. Stood there, goggling at him, was a ginger-haired boy. His face was covered in freckles and there was already a yoghurt stain on his jumper. He had a thick East-London accent. If Moss had to guess, he’d say they were the same age. “You’re new here, ain’t ya?” 

He nodded, looking down at the cube. The boy plopped himself down next to him, putting his arm around Moss’ shoulders. Moss tensed up immediately. 

“What--” he started to say, but the boy cut him off. 

“I’m Jack,” the boy said. “Year Four. Are you the kid that came around last year?” 

He nodded, dropping the cube onto his lap and looking up Jack. _Give more than you get_. 

“I’m Moss,” he said. 

“Nice to meet ya, Moss,” Jack said, holding out his hand. Moss shook it, feeling proud of himself. He couldn’t wait to tell his mum about this when he saw her tonight! “I can help ya out around here.” Moss nodded again. He was a little unsure of what to say. “Tell us a bit about yourself, then!” 

“Oh, well, er,” he stammered. He stopped, rubbing his hand along his trousers to ground himself. “We moved here during the summer holidays.” 

“What, you and your family?” 

“Yeah.”

“Got any brothers and sisters?” 

“No, it’s just me and my mum.” 

“What about your dad?” 

Moss paused for a moment. 

“He, erm… went away,” he said. Jack made an understanding noise, taking his arm from around his shoulder. 

“I like your hair,” Jack said. Moss smiled shyly, looking down as he put his hand to his hair. “You dun’t see that ‘round here.” 

“My dad’s from Nigeria,” he explained. “He moved here when he was eighteen.” 

Jack nodded. There was a strange smile on his face, the sort of which Moss had never seen before, but he assumed that it was good. Everything he was saying _seemed_ nice enough. “What about you?” 

“It’s me, mum, dad and two older sisters,” Jack replied. “Oh, and me baby brother.” 

“How come you come here?” 

“My older sister drops me off. Mam has to look after the baby and dad’s got work.” Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a bar of chocolate. He broke off a square, offering it to Moss, who took it with a smile. “What ‘bout you?” 

“Mum has work,” he said. 

That strange smile was back on Jack’s face. Moss tried to shrug it off, but it niggled at him as they continued to talk. Still, Jack hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary. He was probably just being paranoid. Anyway, he wasn’t the best at reading faces, or voices for that matter. 

They stayed chatting until Julie announced to the room that they could go outside. The boys rushed to go, but Julie stopped them at the door. 

“Moss, Mrs Freeman wants to see you,” she said. Moss made a face but nodded, not wanting to get into trouble. 

“I’ll see you later?” Jack said. Moss nodded enthusiastically. Jack gave him that weird little smile again one last time before running outside onto the playground. Moss watched him go with an elated feeling growing in his chest. 

Maybe he’d made… a friend? 

He beamed all the way to Mrs Freeman’s room. 

***

Moss felt on top of the world until breaktime. 

The morning had been much more fun that he had expected. True, they had a boy-girl seating plan, and the whole class had looked at him a little strangely at first, but he was sitting between two lovely shy girls, who barely spoke a word to him but smiled a little at him. He’d experienced his first RE lesson, which had been eye-opening to say the least. And they did prayers first thing in the morning! Mrs Freeman had told him that it was alright for now if he just held his hands together and stayed quiet, but he’d tried to mumble along with them. At quarter to eleven, it was breaktime and Mrs Freeman let them all out onto the playground. 

Because they all ran out at once, Moss found himself standing at the top of the playground, looking out for Jack. He _had_ said he’d meet him, after all. He scanned the playground and quickly spotted him. Jack was surrounded by the majority of the Year Four class, and once again that strange little smile was on his face. Smiling, Moss ran over to them, but stopped dead before he reached them when he heard Jack proclaim, 

“ _And_ his dad has buggered off as well! Probably didn’t want to deal with the little weirdo. You know he didn’t look me in the eyes the entire time we were speaking?” 

“Went back to his own country, I expect,” another boy said. He sounded pompous and arrogant. “Good riddance.” 

Moss felt like all the air had been knocked out of him. He stumbled backwards, unable to do much more than blink. 

“Yeah,” Jack chortled, but to Moss that, along with everything else, sounded like it was underwater. “ Did you hear his voice? It’s like me mam says, if there’s somethin’ wrong with the bitch, there’s somethin’ wrong with the pup. His mam works: _works_!” 

Gasps of horror went up in the groups, as well as some malicious giggles. 

“He shouldn’t be here,” the pompous boy said. “He belongs in the special schools. People like him should be locked up.” 

Moss had heard enough: he turned around and ran away. Away from the playground, away from that horrible circle, away from _Jack_. Jack! He’d trusted him. He thought he was going to be nice! He’d seemed so interested in everything he’d been saying, and then he’d gone and betrayed him. 

He’d thought they were friends. 

He sprinted back into the school, ignoring the calls of the teacher who was on duty for him to come back. He ran into the building, up the stairs and into the foul-smelling toilets, locking himself in a stall with a firm bang. 

He slammed the toilet lid down, climbing up to sit on it. He drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, burying his face in his knees and letting out a gut-wrenching sob. He’d known it! He’d known that this whole new school malarkey was going to be awful! He never should have left his bed that morning! 

And his father hadn’t _“buggered off”_! Part of him wanted to storm back out there and angrily tell that sniggering circle that his father was an honourable man, who had died of natural causes that were outside of anyone’s control. 

The thought of his father, even now, brought on a new wave of tears. Why had it been him? Why had it been their family that this had happened to? 

Far away, he heard the bell signalling the end of breaktime ring, but he had no motivation to get up. Damn it all to hell with getting into trouble! He was not going back into that classroom with all those people who clearly despised him and laughed at him behind his back! No, he wasn’t going to stand for it. 

There was a knock on the stall door. As if on cue, Moss fell completely silent, almost like a spooked animal. He brought his face out of his knees, quickly wiping away the tears on the sleeve of his horrible purple jumper. 

“Moss? Are you in here?” 

He stayed quiet, even holding his breath in an attempt to throw the person off. 

“We know you’re here,” another voice called. “We heard you come in.” 

Admitting defeat, he wiped his eyes one last time before getting down and unlocking the door. He swung it open, inching out of the room and looking at the floor in shame. Mrs Freeman and a teaching assistant were standing there, looking down at him. He refused to look up, knowing that they must be disappointed in him. 

“What’s going on, sweetheart?” Mrs Freeman asked, her voice sickeningly sweet. Moss shrugged and made a small noise, but didn’t answer. 

“Did something happen?” the teaching assistant, the first male teacher Moss had seen in the school so far, said. Moss stayed quiet and didn’t move at all this time. “We can help you if you don’t tell us what’s wrong.” 

“His mother did mention this morning that he sometimes goes non-verbal,” Mrs Freeman whispered, although it wasn’t a very good whisper. Then she mouthed a word just as Moss looked up that he couldn’t quite make out. The teaching assistant nodded knowingly. 

“Shall I take him down to the rec room?” he asked. Mrs Freeman nodded. 

“I think that might be best.” 

“Shall we call his mum to come pick him up?” 

“No, she’s working, she says she can’t pick him up until five. Just look after him in the rec room and we’ll try and get to the bottom of this.” 

The teaching assistant nodded. Mrs Freeman sighed heavily, shook her head and went out of the bathroom. The assistant gestured for Moss to follow him and, afraid of getting in even more trouble all of a sudden, he followed him. 

“Do you want to get your bag?” the assistant asked. Moss nodded jerkily, grabbing his comfortingly familiar backpack from his peg as they went past it. He followed the assistant down the stairs and past a floaty curtain into a small alcove-like room. 

The room was full of beanbags and cushions. There were shelves upon shelves of books, as well as fairy lights and a box full of sensory toys. He gaped, stopping dead in the doorway. The assistant laughed, plumping up a beanbag and plopping himself down on it. 

“You like?” he asked. Moss nodded, edging forward and sitting on the beanbag opposite to the assistant. He pulled his Rubix cube out of his bag, starting to fiddle with it. It made him feel a little better, but not much. “I’m Mr Thompson. Do you like the Rubix cube, then?” 

“I can solve it in five minutes,” Moss said very quietly. 

“He speaks!” Mr Thompson proclaimed with a laugh. Moss smiled a little, looking back down at the cube. “Can you tell me what happened, though? I don’t bite, don’t worry.” 

“They were all making hurtful comments,” Moss whispered. He listened to the _click_ of the cube. 

“Who?” 

“Everyone.” _Click._

“Anyone in particular?” 

“Jack.” _Click._ “They were talking about my Dad.” 

“We know about that. They shouldn’t be making fun of you for that.” 

Moss looked up at him. He nodded silently. 

_Click_. 

***

When he got home that night, he burst into tears the moment his mother asked him how his day had been. 

“Oh sweetheart,” his mother crooned, coming forward and sweeping him into a hug. “What happened?” 

“They were making fun of me!” he wailed. “They were making fun of Dad! This-this boy, Jack, I thought he was my friend, but-but--” 

He dissolved back into tears. His mother soothed him as best she could, but there was no helping it: his young heart was broken from the wake-up call of how cruel other people could be. 

Even so, he knew he just hadn’t met his best friend yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this!! Next chapter will be out by Saturday at the latest, but hopefully it will be up Friday if I get my arse in gear. Please leave kudos and/or comments if you can, it really keeps me going!!
> 
> Stay safe and well, ya'll. Love you all!! xx


	4. Girls, Girls, Girls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet Jesus, I'm back and on schedule!! 
> 
> Please enjoy this chapter, this is the longest one so far! Thank you to my wonderful beta @Demonic_Angel_511 for your unwavering support!

Any more heartbreak held off until Moss was fourteen and well into secondary school. 

He’d changed a lot since that first day at St Peter’s. He’d grown, for one! He was nearly six foot tall now, towering above his five foot four inch mother. Recently, under said mother’s instructions, he’d shaved his head, leaving behind his fluffy hair for the first time in his life. No, it was 1991 and Maurice Moss was a different person!

Well: kind of. 

He was still, nerdy, of course, and he struggled to make friends. School was finally starting to get interesting, though, and he paid as much attention as he could in all of his lessons. He did have a couple of friends and they would go around to each other’s houses and play Dungeons and Dragons most weekends. He still wore glasses so he could, you know, _see_ , but his mother had recently got him a pair of stylish black frames. She and his friends claimed that he was very handsome. 

And, according to his friends, girls agreed. 

Girls. Now they were in Year Ten, everyone seemed obsessed with girls. In the PE changing rooms, all the lads would be bragging about the latest girl they’d snogged or felt up at a party. They were always talking about girls’ bodies: butt, boobs, body shape, anything. Moss just… didn't get it. He could appreciate that girls were _pretty_ . Some of them were very pretty indeed. But the way _they_ talked about girls… 

Nope. No idea. 

“One day, Moss,” his mother said to him over dinner one night. He’d made spaghetti bolognese for the two of them; since his mum’s shifts were ending later and later, he was having to cook dinner more often. He was relying on jars and frozen food as much as he could. “You’ll find somebody who is perfect for you and everything will all work out.” 

“Do you think there’s someone out there for everyone?” he asked as he took a mouthful of food. 

“Yes, I think so,” his mum replied. 

“Was Dad yours?” 

She smiled sadly, glancing at the picture of the family that was on the wall in the dining room and nodding. 

“There’s someone out there for you,” she said. “I promise, baby.” 

But back to girls. Actually, one girl in particular: Morgan Robertson. 

Morgan Robertson was one of the most popular girls in the year group, and definitely the most beautiful. She had long flowing blonde hair, and was short but still gorgeously lithe and slim. She had full cupid-bow lips and wide, eager sea-green eyes. Not only that, but she was particularly… well-developed. All the other boys were always trying to catch a glimpse of her in her tiny PE kit. Thing is, she wasn’t shallow or silly or stupid like the other popular girls. She was lovely to everyone across the entire year group, and obviously she had her friend group, but she got on particularly well with the “nerdy” group. 

Especially Moss. 

“Moss! Do you get this, because I have _no_ clue!” 

Moss swivelled around in his chair, turning to face Morgan (who sat just behind him) with a smile. She was grinning at him, leaning forward towards him. She tossed her long blonde hair behind her shoulder as she turned her book towards him, pointing to the question that she was struggling with. 

“Oh, this is very easy,” he said, grabbing his pen and pointing to the question. “You just have to take thi-i-is over to the other side--” 

“What, like, take it away?” 

“Yes, exactly!” 

Morgan smiled, quickly scribbling down the answer and catching Moss’ arm before he could turn away. 

“Hey, talk to me-e-e-e-e,” she giggled. “We’ve both finished and this is so _boring_!” 

“It is rather easy,” Moss replied with a smile as he turned himself fully in his chair to face her. “Alright, what do you want to talk about?” 

“Did you do anything over the summer?” 

“Not really.” He shrugged. “You?” 

“Well you clearly did _something_!” Morgan squealed, hitting him gently on the arm. Marianne, her right-hand woman sitting next to her, burst into giggles as she watched them. 

“What?” Moss asked, genuinely bewildered. Morgan half-stood, leaning forward and running her hand through his shorter-than-short hair. 

“Well you shaved your head, for one,” Marianne said. She glanced around to check for the teacher, and then pulled out a massive bag of crisps from her handbag. 

“It suits you,” Morgan continued as she sat back down. She took a strand of beautiful golden hair and started to twist it around her finger. Her eyes flicked down to his lips. “You look even more handsome than before.” 

And once again the girls dissolved into laughter. Morgan was blushing a little but was smiling at him. Moss had absolutely no idea what to say, so settled for smiling back at her. 

“You realise she was flirting with you?” his friend Ben said as they sat in the maths classroom during lunch. His other friend Matthew nodded matter-of-factly, taking a huge bite of his sandwich. Moss furrowed his brow. 

“I don’t think so,” he replied. He popped a grape in his mouth, glancing out of the window. He could see the popular group sitting out on the basketball court. Morgan was in the middle of them, laughing with her friends. She looked radiant out in the autumn sunshine. 

“Moss! Are you listening?” 

“What?” he said, looking away from the window. Ben and Matthew shared a look, smirking. 

“He’s in lo-o-o-o-o-o-ove,” Ben said teasingly. Moss’ jaw dropped open. 

“Am not!” 

“What were you just looking at?” Matthew demanded. Moss grumbled and looked down before quietly saying, 

“Morgan.” 

“You have _got_ to ask her out,” Ben said. Matthew nodded, reaching over and nicking one of the cheese strings out of Moss’ lunchbox. Moss threw a grape at him before turning his attention back to Ben. “Morgan Robertson is into you, Moss. You have an opportunity here that none of us are ever going to have again!” 

“I don’t know if I’m _into_ her,” Moss admitted. 

“Then get a snog out of her and leave her in the dust,” Matthew cut in through a mouthful of cheese string. “Lord knows we can’t get any lower socially than we already are.” 

“I can’t just ‘leave her in the dust’,” Moss said, making quotation marks in the air with his fingers. He fixed Matthew with a look. “It’d be rude, Matt.” 

“Suit yourself,” Matt said with a shrug. “But if _I_ got the chance to snog Morgan Robertson, I’d be jumping _right_ on it.” 

They didn’t talk about it again for the rest of lunch. 

***

After lunch was Geography, and that meant a whole hour next to Morgan for Moss. After lunchtime’s revelation, this wasn’t exactly welcome as Moss’ mind was in turmoil and his anxiety was at an all-time high. When he got to the classroom, he threw himself down in his seat, pulling his Rubix cube from his bag and starting to mess with it. Morgan arrived a couple of minutes later, sitting down and pulling a little hand mirror from her bag. She began making all manner of strange noises, huffs and groans and even a small squeak at one point. Moss looked up from the cube, perturbed. 

“Are you alright?” he asked tentatively. She jumped theatrically, lowering the mirror and turning to face him. 

“Jesus, Moss, you were being so quiet I forgot you were there,” she said. Her eyes were wide and looked teary. “It’s just I’ve got this huge spot that came up over lunch, that’s all, and we’ve got photographers from the paper coming to my Guides tonight and--” she stopped, looking him up and down and finally locking eyes with the cube. “Oh, I’m sorry, you don’t want to hear about this, I’ll be quiet.” 

“No, it’s… fine,” Moss said quickly, leaning forward. He decided to be risky and rested his hand over hers. She smiled at him, taking his hand almost shyly. “Where is it?” 

She pointed to her nose, sniffing and wiping her eyes with her free hand. He squinted at her, but all he could see was a barely visible, slightly raised red bump. 

“There's hardly anything there,” he told her. She smiled softly at him, squeezing his hand. 

“Really?” 

Moss nodded. “And you’re not just lying to make me feel better? Promise?” 

“I promise I am not.” 

All of a sudden she surged forward, pulling him into a tight hug. Her arms were around his neck, and her body was pressed against his. He froze, staying as still as he could until she sat back down in her own seat. 

“That’s what I like about you, Moss,” she said as she started to get her books from her bag. Moss tilted his head to the side, confused. “When I ask you a question, I know that you’re always going to tell me the truth.” She smiled again, glancing up at him for a moment. “You’re not like everyone else. You’re… nice. And I--” 

“Alright, settle down, class!” their teacher Mr Ferguson shouted across the noisy classroom. Morgan quickly put her bag under the desk and fell quiet. Moss gaped at her. What had she been about to say? Reaching across the desk, he grabbed his Rubix cube again. “And Moss, cube _away_ , please?” 

He could feel his cheeks flushing as he stowed the cube back in his bag. He could hear people snickering in front of him. Then, an incredibly strange thing happened: Morgan fixed them all with a certain look, and they all stopped! Straight away! He shook his head a little, utterly baffled. 

“Right, now we’re all quiet,” Mr Ferguson said, pausing to glare at the class. He held up a pile of letters. “Residential! We’re going to Swanage in Dorset for three days to study erosion, details are on the letter, talk to me if you have a problem with anything.” 

At this, he looked at Moss. Moss knew what that really meant: _if you can’t afford it, talk to me and we’ll sort it out._ All the teachers said it every time there was a trip, and Moss was always the only one that actually had to go up and ask after the lesson was over. He blushed, looking down. 

The talking began again in earnest as the letters were handed around. The first place Moss looked when he got his was the price. 

Fifty pounds!? *****

 ***** **_(in today’s money, £50 in 1991 is the equivalent of about £95, adjusting for inflation)_ **

Fifty pounds was a _lot_ of money, and certainly not the sort of money his mother could afford to be shelling out on a school trip. He was about to crumple the letter up and throw it into the bottom of his bag so he could conveniently “forget” to give it to his mother when Morgan stopped him. 

“Hey Moss, what’s up?” she said. He turned to her and shrugged. “You look like you’re about to cry. Why? This looks so fun!” 

“I can’t go,” he said as quietly as he could. She looked taken aback. 

“Why not?” 

“We can’t afford it,” he said. He could feel his cheeks growing hot as he did. It was embarrassing, to be talking to this lovely girl, who he knew had more money than sense. “Mum’s job doesn’t pay well, and Dad left us some money but it’s not a lot, so…” 

He could feel his throat getting tight and so stopped, pursing his lips. Morgan made a small noise, resting her hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m sure there’s a way around it,” she said. 

“How?” he asked. “Unless Mum suddenly got a decent-paying job, there’s no way we can get that much money together in three weeks.” 

Morgan’s face had a certain look on it. Moss couldn’t quite place it, at least not as something he recognised. 

“Leave it with me,” she said. 

***

When he was cooking dinner that night, he couldn't help but gaze at the picture of his parents that was pinned to the noticeboard. It was a Polaroid, taken on their wedding day. It was their first dance. His mother was looking up at his father, who was looking at her like nothing else mattered. As he tried not to burn the beans, he was wondering if, one day, he’d ever have a picture like that in his kitchen. There was just one small problem. 

He wasn’t sure if he was _into_ girls like that. 

For Moss, this was a scary prospect. If he wasn’t into girls, then what? That would mean no marriage, and certainly no children. But was he into… 

No. He couldn’t be. Right? 

He tried to shake the thought from his head. No, he was just being silly. Matt and Ben were probably right, he was probably into Morgan and just didn’t realise it. Yeah, that was it. He was still thinking about the hug a little bit. 

“Moss, I’m home!” 

“Hi Mum!” he called. He flicked the hob off, leaving the kitchen to greet her. She was looking tired, he realised as he watched her close the door behind her and kick off her shoes. She came forward, standing on her tip-toes and kissing him on the cheek. They both went into the kitchen. “There was a knock on the door earlier.” 

“You didn’t answer it, did you?” she asked. He shook his head. 

“No. They went away after a minute or two.” 

She smiled at him, patting him on the shoulder as she went over and looked into the oven. There were sausages and chips cooking inside it, the only thing they’d had in the freezer. 

“Sweetie, how long have these been in?” she asked him. 

“About twenty minutes or so,” he said. “They don’t seem to be cooking, though.” 

“That’s because you haven’t put the oven on properly, my love. You’ve just switched the light on.” 

Moss blushed, quickly reaching forward and twisting the dial to the right setting. His mother watched him with a fond yet somehow sad smile on her face. 

“You’re going to be terrible on your own,” she said fondly. He made a face at her and she laughed. “How was school?” 

“Alright,” he said. “We got a letter in Geography, for a residential.” 

“Oh, that will be nice,” his mum said, but Moss knew that false little voice. “How, um… how much?” 

“Fifty pounds.” 

She winced. 

“I’m sorry baby, but we just can’t afford that at the moment.” 

“That’s what I said to Morgan,” he said. His mother’s face changed all of a sudden, and she wiggled her eyebrows at him. 

“Is this Morgan, the girl you sit next to?” 

He nodded, giving her a strange look. 

“Anyway, I told Morgan and she told me to leave it with her.” He shrugged. “Don’t know what she meant by that, but she did ask for our address at the end of the lesson.” 

His mum looked down at the letters in her hands. Moss presumed that she’d picked them up when she’d got in. She scrabbled through the pile and grabbed an important-looking crisp white envelope. She ripped it open, read it quickly and then dropped it onto the side, putting her head in her hands. Moss reached forward, picking up the letter and reading through it. 

_Dear Madam,_

_Here at Robertson and Co., we do not often have jobs available. However, we have received your credentials and resume through an anonymous contact, and would be delighted to offer you a secretarial position, starting at your earliest convenience. We would be honoured to have your talents on our time. Your hours would be from nine a.m. until four p.m., and your salary would be £20 000 before tax._

_As a goodwill gesture, we have enclosed a cheque to the amount of £50 tax free. This will be yours to keep regardless of whether or not you accept the position. Please contact us at your earliest convenience if you wish to accept._

And then there were a list of contact details. Moss gaped at the paper. Morgan must have done this. That was her father’s company, and she’d got his mother a job there, without any prompting or asking…

Maybe she really did like him. 

***

His mother took him to school the morning of the residential.

Since she’d started her secretarial job at Robertson and Co., things had been much better. The cheque had paid for the trip, and as soon as she got her first paycheck, his mother had bought him a Gameboy. 

“Early Christmas present,” she had said with a smile when she gave it to him. 

They’d got new furniture, replaced some of their old stuff, just generally spruced the house up. Their cat, too, had been treated to some new toys. Really, the job was the best thing to ever happen to the Moss family. 

“Have a good few days, sweetie,” his mum said to him as she pulled up outside the school. He nodded as he checked through his bag. His mother had made him pack jeans and t-shirts, more “normal” clothing rather than his comfortable khakis and corduroys. Apparently jeans would be more appropriate. 

“I will, mum.” 

“And talk to Morgan!” she called after him as he got out of the car. He smiled, nodding and waving to her as she started the car up and drove off. Yes, he would talk to Morgan. At some point. He wasn’t sure when yet. 

Hoisting his bulging bag onto his shoulder, he made his way into the school, going into the hall where the rest of the Geography students were waiting. He felt strange in school in jeans, a t-shirt and battered trainers, and it was even stranger seeing everyone else in their own clothes. Morgan, of course, was looking stunning, wearing shorter-than-short shorts over fishnet tights with a Guns and Roses t-shirt and clunky Doc Martens boots. When she spotted him loitering nervously at the door, she waved him over with a smile. 

“Heya!” she said when he got there, giving him a quick hug. Moss smiled, greeting her back. He waved a little to the rest of the group, of which there wasn’t many; not a lot of the popular group had taken Geography. It was just Marianne, her boyfriend Davis, and two girls called Katie and Ruth. Morgan slipped her arm around his waist with a smile, and Moss copied her actions. The rest of the group shared a look. “Sit with me on the coach, Moss?” 

“Of course,” he replied. 

“How come you’re so late?” Marianne asked. “You’re usually here before all of us.” 

“My mum insisted on bringing me,” he said with a laugh. “And the cat threw up on the carpet, so we left a bit later than we meant to.” 

Marianne made a face, but everyone else laughed at that. Morgan leant her head against his shoulder. 

Moss couldn’t help but smile then. 

“I might fall asleep against you,” Morgan admitted as they settled down on the coach. He shrugged. 

“If I don’t look out of the window I might throw up on you,” he said. She cracked a smile. “Don’t worry, I have a plastic bag ready.” 

“You’re funny,” she said. She leant back against his shoulder, yawning heavily. 

“Why are you so tired?” he asked. She made a non-committal noise. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” she said. 

He accepted that. It seemed reasonable enough. He couldn’t sleep sometimes too. And it wasn’t like he had a problem with her falling asleep on him. He actually found it rather endearing. At least she’d told him beforehand. She always did, or always shot him a little look as if silently asking permission. It was nice. Not many people were like that. 

She did end up falling asleep on him just as they merged onto the M25 to get out of London. He let her sleep, even when his arm did start to go a bit numb. She looked incredibly peaceful, despite the fact that it must not have been comfortable to sleep sitting up like that. He glanced at her when he wasn’t feeling horribly coach-sick, and it did help him feel a little better. 

They arrived in Swanage at around lunchtime. Having lived in London his whole life and been barely anywhere else, Moss was gaping at the place. There was so much green, and everything was so open! The sky was grey and threatening rain, as was standard in November, but even so the coastline seemed exquisite. There were barely any people around, and those that were seemed relaxed and leisurely, unlike the harried and frazzled businesspeople of London. He nudged Morgan gently awake as they pulled up in the hostel car park . 

“We’re here,” he told her once she’d woken up a little. She sat up in her seat, finally leaning away from him to look out of the window. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” 

“I mean, it’s okay,” she said with a shrug. Moss’ face dropped a little. Was it not? Had he made a mistake? 

“Is it not supposed to look like that?” he asked. She fixed him with a look as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. 

“Haven’t you seen the sea before?” 

“....No?” 

She stopped short, looking up at him. He looked back out of the window, suddenly uncomfortable. A queasy feeling was growing in the pit of his stomach as he said, “we’ve never really been on holiday, and when we did we went to the Lake District because it was cheaper.” 

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she babbled. “I forget my privilege, I do, and oh God, I didn’t mean to be horrible, I’m really--” 

“Morgan, it’s fine,” he said with a laugh, turning back to her. She shook her head, sniffing back tears. “Really, it is.” 

“If you’re sure…” she said, but she didn’t sound too sure about it. They grabbed their bags, listening to Mr Ferguson rant about _standards_ and pulling silly faces at each other as they did so. When they got off the coach, they hugged quickly before going off to their respective rooms. 

***

It wasn’t until after dinner that they were alone together. 

The teachers had set the fifty students loose in the town under the stricts orders of not to trash anything, not to go on the beach after seven and to be back at the hotel by nine at the latest. Most of the students had gone to the expansive arcade, and Moss was going to go with them, but then Morgan had caught his arm and whispered in his ear that she wanted to talk to him alone. After a quick trip back to Moss’ room to fetch a hoodie, which he gave straight to her and insisted she wear, they walked together down onto the beach. 

The sand was damp underneath them and it was starting to rain a little, but they didn’t care. Morgan snuggled towards him. He could feel her shivering as he put his arm around her. 

“Are you cold?” he asked. “Because you can have the hoodie I’m wearing as well, if you are.” 

She laughed, watching as he struggled to take his hoodie off whilst also keeping his arm around her. He managed eventually and she accepted it graciously, draping it over her mostly exposed legs. 

“You’re so sweet,” she said, leaning her head on his shoulder. They both looked up at the sky. It wasn’t very clear, but a few stars were still visible through the dark clouds. That, along with the waves gently lapping along the shoreline, created a very pretty picture. Moss glanced at Morgan. Her eyes were fixed on the horizon, on the silhouette of a small boat that was only just visible. She looked beautiful. “You’re not like other guys, Moss. You’re cute, and you actually care about me as a person, not just about my arse or my tits. I always know I can talk to you.” 

She fell silent, and they were quiet for a few minutes. Moss was about to say something, but then Morgan leant up and pressed her lips to his. 

He didn’t know what to do. He froze, eyes widening for a moment before he decided it would be better to close them. She was pressed up against him, her arm around his waist. His hands somehow found their way to her back and her cheek. His mind, however, was in turmoil. He liked her, but now he knew for certain that he didn’t like her like _this._ If there was any girl, he was going to like, it was going to Morgan, so that had to mean… 

Then there was a tongue trying to get into his mouth, and he pulled sharply away. 

“I’m sorry!” he shouted quickly. Morgan stayed close to him, but she looked confused. “You’re lovely, Morgan, but I…” 

“What is it, Moss?” she asked, gently laying her hand over his trembling one. “You can tell me anything.” 

“I just don’t know if I’m into girls!” 

He could tell that Morgan hadn’t been expecting _that_. She leant back for a moment and he looked down, feeling humiliated. Then she hugged him again. 

“Thank God,” she giggled. “I thought I’d repulsed you!” 

He laughed nervously, looking back to her. 

“You would never,” he said softly. She smiled at him, tucking her hair behind her ear. 

“You really don’t mind?” 

“Lord no,” she said. “Let you in on a secret: I think I might be into girls as well as boys.” 

“Really?” he asked before he could stop himself. She laughed, throwing her head back. 

“Yeah, really!” 

They shared a laugh together, scooting closer together for warmth. They stayed like that for a few moments. 

“Come on, then,” Morgan said. Moss got up, offering her a hand and possessively putting his arm around her shoulders as they started up the ramp towards the boulevard. “Let’s go and get chips before we freeze to death.” 

Moss smiled and nodded. She may not have been the “one”, and that was always going to be heartbreaking, but at least he’d found someone better. 

He’d found himself his first best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be out on Monday!!


	5. Girls, Girls, Girls, Part Two: The Saga Continues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back out on schedule! I really didn't think I was going to have this out on time, but here we are, surprising myself more than anyone else lmao. Anyhoo, please enjoy this chapter, and don't forget to leave comments and kudos if you can!! Anything is welcome, including constructive criticism lmao. Thank you once again to my wonderful beta @Demonic_Angel_511
> 
> POTENTIALLY TRIGGERING TOPICS-- you have been warned here, just in case

College was just something else. 

Moss had already been there for six months, but he was absolutely loving it. Finally he was doing what he wanted to, and learning more and more every day about computers. He was still friends with Morgan, best friends, in fact, but he now had all these friends who were into everything he was. He loved it more than anything else.

Girls, however, were still a problem. 

You see, he wasn’t one hundred percent sure that he _wasn’t_ into them like that. He was at about ninety percent with it, but there was that niggling ten percent in the back of his mind. Anyway, before he said anything to his mother, he wanted to be one hundred percent sure about what he was going to say. 

And because of that, he decided that he was going to get a girlfriend. 

“You have _got_ to be kidding,” Morgan said. Moss laughed, rolling onto his side and switching the landline phone to his other ear. He could virtually hear her rolling her eyes down the phone. “A girlfriend?” 

“What?” he said. 

“Moss, you’re _so_ gay,” she replied with a giggle. “Remember when we watched Top Gun, and you spent a good hour fawning over Tom Cruise?” 

“Well yeah, but I told you,” he said. “Ten percent.” 

“Yes, yes, ten percent, you’ve barely shut up about it.” There was a pause. “Alright, fine, suit yourself. You’ll have the pick of whoever you want, at least. Wish I could have that.” 

“Oh shush, you _know_ you could ask any guy out and he would say yes.” 

She laughed down the phone. 

“Alright, I’ve got to go,” she said. “Talk tomorrow at lunch?” 

“Course,” he replied. They said their goodbyes, and then Moss hung up the phone with a sigh. He collapsed back down onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling. A girlfriend. How did you go about getting a girlfriend? On the telly, all they did was say a few choice words and bam, they were together. Moss knew that real life was very different. 

There was a girl, Josie, in his coding class. She was fairly pretty, with scatterings of freckles across her nose and cheeks, and a kind, beautiful smile. She wore her brunette hair in a tousled bob. They got on fairly well, and had once had a lively debate about the merits of Star Wars versus Star Trek. Would she like him? Did he like her? _Yes,_ he thought, _she’s just lovely and the feelings will probably come once I get to know her better._

“Mum, can I ask you something?” he asked her over dinner that night. She nodded with a smile. “How do you woo a girl?” 

“Oooo, is there a special lady?” she asked. Moss blushed, looking down at his plate. She chuckled, putting down his knife and fork. “Just be yourself, sweetheart. Any girl would be lucky to have you.” 

“But _how_?” 

“Start a conversation about something or other,” she said. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much, my love. It’ll be okay.” 

He nodded, but he wasn’t so sure.

***

The next day, he decided to take his mother’s advice during coding class. They were supposed to be making a code that would turn a little light on and off, but Moss had finished it very quickly. Glancing over, he saw that Josie had also finished, and was doodling in her sketchbook. He took a deep breath and wheeled himself over to her desk. 

“Coding, eh?” he said. He ran his hand along his thigh. Josie jumped, but smiled when she saw that it was him. 

“Yeah, I know,” she replied. “Alright, Moss?” 

“Yes, thank you. What are you drawing?” 

“A sketch of a Klingon fighter ship,” she said, turning the sketchbook towards him. He leant over to look at it, and couldn’t help but appreciate her raw talent. It was a very detailed sketch. 

“Wow,” he said appreciatively. “I could see that being in the back of one of the manuals.” 

“You think?” she asked, a light blush coming over her cheeks. He nodded. “Aw, thank you.” 

“No problem,” he said, feeling a little confused but persevering. “I was just wondering… um, would you, erm…” 

“Hang on,” Josie interrupted, turning to him. She put her hand over his. “Can I say something first?” 

“Okay?” 

“I like you, Moss,” she said. “Like, _really_ like you.” 

“R-really?” he stammered. She nodded, smiling a little. “Well, I, er… I like you too. A lot. So would you like to-o-o-o… go out sometime? Why not?” 

“Yeah,” she replied, nodding shyly. “Yeah, I’d like that a lot.” 

“Great!” he exclaimed much louder than he needed to. He blushed when he realised everyone was looking at them, glancing down at his shoes. “Is Saturday okay?” 

“Yeah, Saturday’s perfect. What were you thinking?” 

Shoot! He hadn’t thought that far ahead. He froze up immediately, a strange sort of choked noise escaping from his mouth. He had _no_ idea what to do. Nada. Zilch. Zero. Josie, however, seemed to find his blind panic endearing and began to giggle, leaning closer to him. 

“What about the cinema?” she said. Moss nodded, letting out a sigh of relief. “They’re doing a reshowing of Return of the Jedi at midday.” 

“That sounds good,” he replied. 

“Meet outside the cinema at half eleven?” 

He nodded. 

“I’ll pay.” 

She grinned at him, and was about to open her mouth to say something else when the teacher started to speak again. Moss waved a little to her, wheeling himself back to his seat. He folded his arms across his chest, smiling proudly. He’d done it. He’d actually done it. 

Bring on Saturday! 

***

Of course when Saturday came, all was _not_ well. 

“Morgan, I can’t do this!” he yelled down the phone. He was pacing around his tiny room, his breathing heavy and one hand in his hair. “When did I ever think this was a good idea!?” 

“Alright, just calm down,” Morgan said. 

“How can I be calm? In an hour and a half, I have to go and sit in a cinema with a girl I barely know! What if it’s all too much, and I have to walk out halfway through?”

“Moss, you’re working yourself up!” she snapped. Moss fell abruptly silent, not used to hearing that tone of voice applied to him. “It will be perfectly fine. You’ll get some popcorn, you and Josie will talk about nerdy stuff, and you will _finally_ accept that there is no way in the world that you are straight.” 

He grumbled a little, but nodded. Then he realised that she couldn’t hear him nod through the phone and said, 

“Alright, alright.” 

“Call me later, yeah? Let me know how it goes.” 

“Will do. Bye.” 

He put the phone down much too forcefully, throwing himself down on his bed and burying his face into his pillow. He resisted the urge to scream into it, though: the walls were thin and his mum always liked to lie in on a Saturday. It actually worked to his advantage here, though, as he could finally wear his comfortable clothes rather than the “fashionable” ones she insisted he wear. 

After what felt like forever but was actually only thirty minutes or so, he dragged himself up and glanced at his watch. He was supposed to be meeting Josie in an hour. He sighed, looking up at the ceiling. He was going to have to do it, wasn’t he? Huffing, he grabbed his wallet from the side and left his room, running downstairs. He pulled his shoes on, and was about to leave the house when he thought of his mother upstairs. Grabbing a piece of paper, he scribbled her a quick note telling her where he was. As he pulled on his shoes, he took a deep breath. 

It was showtime, baby. 

***

The date actually turned out okay. There wasn’t much to tell: they’d met, they’d seen the movie, they’d been for food afterwards. Moss had walked her home. They’d held hands, and he took the risk of a quick kiss on the cheek when he dropped her off at her door. She seemed to have liked it, giggling and blushing as she said goodbye to him. 

And from that day on, they were a couple. It wasn’t long before word got around the college, and by Monday morning everyone seemed to know. They started to sit together whenever they could, holding hands walking around campus, and even kissing occasionally. Moss found it incredibly strange, but it was nice. Sort of. He enjoyed having someone to talk to whenever… although he had had Morgan for that before. The kissing and stuff he didn’t really enjoy, if he was honest. Well, not _not_ enjoyable, but it was just a little weird. He didn’t understand what was so great about the exchange of salivary fluids, but Josie seemed to like it. 

One day, about a month or two after they’d got together, they were in his room, kissing on his bed. His mother was out, and wasn't supposed to be back for a few hours. Really, what he wanted to be doing was watching the episode of Star Trek that was playing on his television, but apparently Josie had other plans, so here he was. She seemed to be enjoying herself, anyway, constantly trying to get _closer_ to him. How could she possibly get any closer to him!? They were literally attached by the lips! 

His mind was starting to wander, and really he was wondering about dinner that night. His mother had said that since Josie was staying for dinner, they could get Chinese takeaway. Was he going to have the rice or the noodles? Was Josie going to expect him to share with her? Even if she did, it wasn’t the end of the world, he supposed. He was so distracted that he barely noticed Josie moving around until her hand was undoing his belt and going… down there. 

He yelped, jumping back and away from her, eyes suddenly wide open and staring at her. She opened her own eyes quickly, glancing towards the door. 

“Did you hear someone?” she whispered conspiratorially. He shook his head, stammering and spluttering at her, How dare she! He had _not_ agreed to that! “Moss? What’s wrong?” 

He wanted to tell her, he really did, but the words refused to leave his mouth. He shook his head again, speedily re-fastening his belt with trembling hands. “What’s the matter?” She edged towards him, but he shuffled back until his back hit the wall. “It’s not like anyone’s here.” She leant forward, fixing him with what he supposed was a seductive look, laying her hand right there on his upper thigh. He tensed up immediately. “Why don’t we have a little fun?” 

“No,” he said. She looked confused and a little bit hurt, but he was just glad that she finally took her hand off his leg.

“What?” she said. “Why not?” 

“I just don’t want to,” he replied. He drew his knees up to his chest, hugging them tightly. Josie’s face screwed up all of a sudden, and it took him a moment, but then he realised that she was starting to cry. “Josie…” 

“You don’t fancy me!” she wailed. 

“I do, it’s just--” 

“We’ve been going out for two months, Moss, and you’ve done nothing more than snog me! I want more from you, and I know deep down that you want it to, so--”

“I don’t!” he shouted back, suddenly angry. “Josie, I don’t want to go that far!” 

“What are you, some sort of poufter or something?” she snapped back. Moss stammered, caught up short as he looked down at his knees. He heard her make a disgusted noise, and then felt the mattress bounce up a little as she got up. As he looked up, her palm connected with his cheek and his head was whipped sideways. He gasped, putting a hand to his cheek and looking up at her in shock. “We’re _over_ , Moss. I hope you find someone who makes you _very_ happy!” 

With one final glare at him, she flounced out of his bedroom. A minute or two later, he heard the front door slam shut. He waited for another few minutes, just to make sure she was definitely gone, before getting up and sprinting to the bathroom. He collapsed in front of the toilet and retched until he was shaking and there was nothing more to bring up. Even so, he dry-heaved for another ten minutes or so, unable to stop himself. He just felt sick to his stomach with everything that had happened with Josie. He couldn’t shake off the horrible feeling of her hand down his trousers without his permission. 

“Moss! Are you okay up there?” 

His mother. Of course. At the sound of his voice he let out a sob but finally sat up a little, leaning up against the wall. He let his head fall backwards onto it and glanced towards the door. At least he’d had the sense to close and lock it behind him. 

There was a knock on the door. “Moss!” 

His mother was sounding increasingly panicked, so he reached up and flushed the toilet to let her know he was still alive and conscious. It took him a moment to stand, but eventually he managed it. He staggered over to the sink and washed his mouth out to get rid of the stale, acrid taste before going to the door, unlocking and opening it. He leant his head against the cool doorframe as he did so: his head was pounding at the temples. 

“Sweetie, you look awful,” his mother said. She sounded quite worried. He let out a groan, closing his eyes against the sunlight shining in from his open bedroom door. “Where’s Josie? What happened?” 

He shook his head, swallowing down the gag. 

“Broke up,” he whispered, barely opening his lips. 

“Oh _honey_ ,” she said, wrapping her arm around his shoulders and guiding him to his room. He sat down on his bed, feeling numb. His mum sat down next to him. “I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?” 

He shook his head. Gently, she rested the back of her hand on his forehead. “You really don’t seem well, baby. You’ve gone all hot and pale.” 

“Threw up,” he said miserably. His mum made a sympathetic noise, getting up and going over to his door. 

“Get some sleep, love,” she told him. “I’ll bring up a bucket just in case, okay?” 

He nodded, watching as she went. Everything felt almost surreal. As he stared up at the ceiling, he began to wonder if maybe _every_ girl would provoke that kind of reaction. Did it make him weird? He wasn’t sure. Sighing, he closed his eyes, putting his arm over his eyes to block out any remaining light. 

He was asleep within thirty seconds. 

***

An hour later, he was woken by the shrill ringing of the phone on the bedside table next to him. 

He groaned, turning to flop back over onto his back as he slapped his hand along the table, searching for the phone. Once he found it he held it to his ear, half-opening one eye. 

“What?” he murmured. 

“What the hell happened with Josie?” 

It was Morgan, of course. He dragged his hand down his face in an attempt to wake himself up a little. 

“What?” he said. “How do you--” 

“She’s just stormed round her screaming at me because apparently I could have warned her you were gay?” she replied. “Care to explain?” 

“We broke up,” he said. He found himself sniffing back tears as he said it. “I can’t explain it over the phone.” 

“I’m coming round,” she said assertively. “I’ll bring ice cream. Breakups are rough, man. See you in thirty?” 

“Yeah,” he replied. They were both quiet for a minute, then he said, “Morgan?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Thank you.” 

Whilst he was waiting for her, he managed to change and clean his room a little. He then dragged himself downstairs, sitting down on the sofa next to his mother. 

“Are you feeling better, love?” she asked. He nodded. 

“Morgan’s coming round,” he said. “Is that alright?” 

“Of course it is,” she replied. They sat quietly for a few minutes, watching the television. Countdown was on, one of Moss’ favourite shows. During the advert break, his mother turned to him. “I don’t know why you and Morgan have never dated, you know. You’d make such a good couple!” 

“We just don’t like each other like that,” he said through gritted teeth. This happened every time Morgan came round. There was a knock at the door, but as was their custom, the two of them ignored it. “Mum… what do you think about boys who don’t like girls?” 

“Why are you asking?” she said, sounding suspicious. There was another knock. 

“There were people talking about it at college the other day, and I was just wondering what you thought about it,” he babbled after a short pause. 

“Well, I don’t see a problem with it, to be honest,” she said. “As long as they’re careful, then what they do behind closed doors isn’t really mine to judge, is it?” 

He smiled and nodded just as the phone went off. Glancing at his mother, he got up and grabbed it from the receiver. 

“Moss household, how may I help?” he said in his most polite voice. 

“Moss, it’s me, you twat!” Morgan yelled. The knocking, of course. 

“Sorry, I’ll let you in,” he said hurriedly, putting down the phone and rushing to the door. When he opened it, Morgan was standing there looking suitably annoyed from underneath an umbrella. Her Walkman was sticking out of her pocket. She pulled her headphones off, coming forward and enveloping him in a tight hug. 

“Sorry about Josie,” she said as she let him go. She held up a Tesco bag. “I brought ice cream.” 

“Come in,” he replied, letting her come in and closing the door behind her. She stood her umbrella up against the wall, slipping off her sodden shoes and coming into the living room. 

“Afternoon, Mrs Moss,” she said, waving to his mother. She waved back. 

“Hi, Morgan,” she replied. “Did you walk here again?” 

“Can’t beat a bit of exercise,” Morgan laughed. “No, got the tube most of the way then walked here.” 

“Do you want to stay for dinner, love?”

“Oh, go on then, if you’re offering.” 

The two women smiled at each other, and Moss could have sworn they were having a private conversation in complete silence. He tapped Morgan on the shoulder and she came out of it, following him upstairs and into his room. Once they were there, they both sat down on the floor. Moss clicked the TV on, flicking to the BBC and turning it up until he couldn’t hear anything from downstairs. 

“What the hell happened?” Morgan asked as she pulled the ice cream and two spoons out of her bag. It was a new brand, Ben and Jerry’s, and proclaimed to be _Cookie Dough_ flavoured. Moss shuddered, accepting a spoon from her. His stomach rumbled, suddenly hungry after realising he was completely empty. 

“We were kissing,” he said quietly. Morgan nodded, cracking the lid off the ice cream. “And then she… she put her hand down there.” 

“Without asking?” Morgan asked. He nodded. She shook her head, stabbing her spoon into the ice cream. “What a _bitch_. What did you do?” 

“I jumped away, obviously,” he replied. “Told her I didn’t want to go that far and then she was leaving. I threw up, went to sleep and then you called.” 

“Oh _Moss_ ,” she said sympathetically, passing him the ice cream. He took it gratefully, taking a tiny bit and letting it melt on his tongue. 

“Why did she go to yours?” he asked. 

“Well, at first, she thought I was sleeping with you,” she said, shrugging and reaching back into the bag. She pulled out a second tub of ice cream. “So I told her I wasn’t, after going outside and closing the front door, of course. Then she started screaming at me and saying _‘you knew he was gay, you knew he was gay’_!” 

“What did you say?” 

“I played it dumb, obviously. She stopped screaming after five minutes or so, but then she started crying so I told her to go home.” 

Moss winced, digging through the ice cream in search for another lump of the delicious cookie dough. 

“I didn’t mean to make her cry,” he said. 

“Don’t you _dare_ feel sorry for her!” Morgan exclaimed. He looked at her, confused. “She crossed a line! That’s not your fault.” 

He nodded. They were quiet for a little while, eating and watching a repeated episode of Countryfile. Whilst the presenters were talking about the gestational conditions of different types of pig, Morgan turned to Moss. 

“So how are you feeling about the ten percent now?” she said, careful to keep her voice low. Avoiding her gaze, he shrugged. 

“I don’t think it’s really there anymore,” he whispered. He’d tried so very hard not to lose it, but there was no fighting it now. 

There was no way that Maurice Moss was into girls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! Next chapter will be out on Wednesday, and I anticipate it being rather longer and much better written than this one. 
> 
> Stay safe and happy, y'all! Love you all


	6. The Gay Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like what's going to happen in this chapter is fairly obvious. Please enjoy, and leave comments and kudos if you can!! They keep my creativity boosted!! 
> 
> Thank you as always to my fabulous beta @Demonic_Angel_511

Like the cliche he always felt like, Moss’ next heartbreak came during his first year at university. 

He’d moved out of home for the first time ever in order to go to Cambridge University to study computing. His mother had been so proud when he’d got his acceptance letter that she’d started crying, and had then made him phone everyone they knew in order to tell them. To be honest, he didn’t really get it. He knew Cambridge was a good school, sure, but why did it warrant such a fuss from his mother? Surely they all taught the same thing? Even so, it was nice to know that he’d got into his first choice of school. 

Morgan had gotten her first choice of school as well: the London School of Economics, to study Geopolitics and Economics. He knew that he was going to miss her, but also that she was going to do amazingly. 

“God, I still can’t quite believe it,” she said to him on their A-Level results day. They’d both got straight A’s in all of their subjects. “You’re going to Cambridge!” 

“I know,” he said with a laugh. “And you’re going to the School of Economics.” 

“I’ll miss you, you know,” she said. He nodded. 

“Me too.” 

They hugged as Morgan’s father appeared behind them. He rested his hand on Morgan’s shoulder, beaming at her as her and Moss broke away from each other. 

“So, you’re both moving on,” he said. He fixed Moss with that strange look that he always gave him whenever he saw him or he came round to their massive house. 

“Moss is going to Cambridge, Dad,” Morgan replied. 

“Cambridge, eh?” her father said. He sounded impressed. “What’re you studying, Moss?” 

“Computing and IT,” he answered, fixing his gaze on Morgan’s father’s forehead so it at least looked like he was making eye contact with him. 

“You want to go into IT, do you?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

He laughed, reaching over and clapping him on the shoulder. He suppressed the flinch as Morgan shot him an apologetic look.

“Well, we best be off,” her father said. 

“We’ll meet up again before we go to uni, yeah?” Morgan asked. Moss nodded, moving forward and giving her another quick hug. 

“Bye, Morgan.” 

They ended up spending one last day together before they went their separate ways. Neither of them would admit it, but they both cried a little bit when they had to say goodbye. 

Even so, the thought of living on his own was thrilling for Moss. Every night, he would cross off yet another day on his countdown until Freshers week started before he went to sleep. Finally he wouldn’t be under his mother’s watchful eye. Finally he could have his own space. Finally he could just be himself. 

He moved up there on the Sunday before Freshers week started. His mother drove him up, almost everything he owned along with various pieces of furniture, kitchenware and cutlery stuffed into the boot and the backseat. The drive was only supposed to take an hour and a half, but his mother in her ever-infinite wisdom had insisted they leave London at eight in the morning if they wanted to be in Cambridge by lunchtime. She was right, of course, since they got stuck in a traffic jam of the M25, plus they stopped at a service station after two hours in the car because Moss insisted that he was going to be sick if he spent another minute in that stuffy metal box. 

They arrived at the university at half past twelve on the dot. The whole place was already crawling with people and they had struggled to find a parking space near his pre-assigned dorm. As he looked out at the sea of people, Moss found himself beginning to be consumed by panic. How could he go out there with all of them? He shot his mother a worried glance. 

“It’s alright,” she said. “It seems like a lot now, but you’ll get used to it.” 

He nodded, and they got out of the car together. The sun was warm on his skin, he couldn’t help but notice as he opened the back door and started to grab the suitcases that were closest to him. His mum went around the other side and did the same. 

“We can always come back,” she said when she saw that he was trying to tuck a large cardboard box labelled  _ crockery  _ under his arm. He nodded, putting the box back into the car with a sigh of relief. With two suitcases apiece, they started to make their way towards the building. 

“Name?” the tired-looking student on the door asked as they approached. 

“Maurice Moss,” he said, trying to sound as confident as he could. 

“Dorm Fourteen,” the student replied, handing him a key. “Third floor, second room on the right. Communal kitchen is at the end of the hallway, each room has an ensuite. If you need to keep collecting stuff from your car, use the back entrance. Any questions?” 

He shook his head. The students checked off a box on his sheet of paper and then waved them through. They hauled the cases into the building and then stopped. 

“There’s no lift,” his mother said. 

“There’s no lift,” Moss repeated. They both sighed, glancing at each other before grabbing the suitcases and starting to climb the six flights of stairs to the second floor. 

When they got to the third floor, the corridor was already packed with boxes and furniture and even more  _ people _ . Moss sucked in a deep breath, readying himself and walking down the corridor to the second room on the right. 

“Hi! Who are you?” a bright, chatty-looking woman asked as he got to his door. He smiled at her, reaching for his key and unlocking the door. “You must be my Zach’s next-door neighbour!” 

He made a small noise of acknowledgment, escaping into the room under the guise of putting the suitcases inside it. The room was only small, about the same size of his room at home, with bare whitewashed walls, a chest of drawers, and a bare bedframe and mattress, but to him it seemed almost heavenly. He gaped as he put the cases onto the bed. It was beautiful. 

“Oh, Moss, it’s lovely, isn’t it?” his mum said, poking her head around the corner of the doorframe. 

“I love it,” he said quietly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. She smiled at him, coming into the room and putting the cases she’d been carrying against the wall. 

“Why don’t you start unpacking?” she said. “I’ll go down and start bringing the other bags up.” 

“No,” he cut in quickly, standing up. “I’ll get them.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yep.” 

She nodded, watching him as he went back out of the room. He jumped when he did, though: the chatty woman from next door was right there waiting for him. 

“Is that your mum, duckie?” she asked. He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. 

“I’m sure she’d be happy to talk if you wanted to,” he said, more of a pathetic attempt to get rid of her than anything else. Thankfully it worked, and the woman beamed at him before practically running into his room. A moment later, he could hear her and his mother nattering away. He smiled to himself whilst walking back down the stairs. 

Maybe these people weren’t going to be so bad after all. 

*** 

It took roughly an hour for him to haul all of his stuff upstairs, and by about the eighth or ninth trip he was starting to wonder if he’d maybe brought too much stuff with him. He was panting a little during the last trip, but he was carrying about four or five boxes with him. When he got back to the room he dropped them by the door, stretching his muscles out with a groan as he did so. His mum looked up from the bed, where she and the next-door chatty woman were sitting and nattering. 

“Is that all of them, love?” she asked. Moss nodded. The two women smiled at each other, and the chatty woman got up. They hugged. 

“Good luck,” the chatty woman quipped. His mum laughed, waving her off and shutting the door behind her. 

“Judy is just  _ lovely _ ,” his mum said with a smile. 

“Is she?” Moss said, trying to sound interested but failing miserably. 

“Her boy sounds lovely as well,” she said, glaring at him and unzipping one of the cases on the bed. “Shall we get cracking, then?” 

Over the next three hours, Moss felt like he learned everything about Judy and her son Zach. They were from a small town in the Midlands. Zach was the first person in the family to go to a prestigious university. His father, Peter, was a builder, whilst Judy was a stay-at-home mum of four. Zach was the oldest, and was studying physics. They had two cats and a dog back at home. Somehow, though, the sound of his mother’s voice chattering away helped him with the monotonous and long task of putting away and organising everything he owned. Him trying to put everything in the same position as it was in his bedroom at home did take up a lot of extra time, though. 

When they finished, they both sat down on the edge of the bed, looking around the room with satisfied looks on their face. His mother reached over, putting her hand over his. 

“I can’t believe you’re not going to be living at home,” she murmured. 

“I know,” he replied. 

“It’ll be so quiet.” 

They were silent for another few moments, looking around the now much less bare looking room. His mother turned to him. “You’ll be alright, won’t you?” 

“Yeah,” he said with a nod. He looked over to her. “Yeah, I’ll be okay.” 

She reached over and gave him a hug. For once he returned it, holding her close. “I’ll miss you, mum.”

“You know I’ll always be there if you need me,” she whispered. “All you have to do is call.” 

He nodded. As she broke away, he found himself drying his eyes. He walked her down to her car. It was coming up to half past seven, and the sun was just starting to set on the horizon. 

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, leaning through the open driver’s window. She smiled, leaning over and kissing him on the cheek. 

“Make sure you eat something,” she replied. He nodded. “I love you, baby.” 

“Love you too, mum.”

He watched from the back door of the building as she pulled out of the car park, and as the car got smaller and smaller, disappearing down the road. He waited in the cold evening air until he could no longer see the car. He smiled sadly to himself, going back inside and trudging upstairs to his room. He had just shut the door when he remembered his mother’s instruction to eat. He knew he had some Smarties in his cupboard in the kitchen, so turned straight back around and marched into the kitchen. He grabbed one of his bowls, emptied a tube of Smarties into it, and was looking through the fridge for milk when he heard a deep baritone voice say, 

“And who do we have here?” 

He jumped, shutting the fridge quickly with a bang and turning as he said, 

“I wasn’t--” 

But he trailed off when he clapped eyes on the owner of the voice. It was another boy, but this boy didn’t look like a boy, he looked like a  _ man _ . Tanned skin, tall, a strong jaw, sparkling white teeth, clean-shaven and grinning at him from where he was leaning against the door frame. He was muscled, and Moss could tell you for definite that he had a chiselled six pack, as he wasn’t wearing a shirt, just a pair of grey jogging bottoms and a pair of white socks. Moss squeaked a little involuntarily. The other laughed. 

“Don’t let me stop you,” he said. Moss nodded quickly, turning back to the fridge and grabbing the milk. His hands were shaking as he poured it into the bowl. “What’re you eating?” 

“Smarties cereal,” Moss replied as he replaced the milk, kicked the fridge door shut and went on the hunt for a spoon. The man pushed himself off the doorframe, coming over and hoisting himself up onto the side. 

“Didn’t know Smarties made a cereal,” he remarked. 

“They don’t,” Moss said, still rooting through the disorganised cutlery drawer. Why did they have so many knives!? It looked like the knife section in Ikea in that drawer, if a hurricane had ripped through said Ikea! “It’s just Smarties in a bowl with milk. I invented it when I was twelve.” 

The man laughed, a deep rippling laugh that sent shivers down Moss’ spine. He stopped for a moment before letting out a little giggle of his own. 

“I’ll have to give that a go sometime,” the man said. He hopped down from the counter, coming to stand just behind Moss. He reached past him, his arms just brushing his torso as he reached into the drawer and pulled out a spoon, handing it to him. Moss accepted it with a nervous chuckle. “There you are.” 

“Thank you,” Moss answered shyly. Then he realised that they didn’t actually know him. “I’m Moss.”

“Zach,” the man replied. 

Zach?  _ This  _ was Zach? This bronzed muscled  _ God  _ was Zach? His next door neighbour Zach? The boy had got straight A’s in all of his exams, was studying Physics and wanted to become a university lecturer? No, surely not. This man looked like he was supposed to be in movies, not sitting in an office somewhere teaching about Isaac Newton! 

Zach’s voice brought him out of his thoughts. “Are you the kid my mum started harassing earlier?” 

“Yeah,” he said quietly. Zach huffed, shaking his head. 

“Sorry ‘bout her,” he replied. “She’s just proud, you know? We’re from a small village in what feels like a small town and she ain’t stopped shouting about it from the church rooftops since I got my acceptance letter.” 

Moss laughed, stirring the Smarties around in the milk and watching as the colour started to leach out of them. Zach seemed to realise that he was still standing behind him as he moved, letting Moss start to walk towards his room. Zach followed. “What’re you studying, Moss?” 

“Computing and IT,” he replied before taking a mouthful of Smarties. Zach looked impressed. 

“Sounds interesting,” he said with a nod. Moss nodded, and watched as Zach started to go into his room. Just before he shut the door, the other leant out of the room into the corridor, so his lips were just by Moss’ ear. “And if you ever want to see more than just my abs, you know where I am.” 

And he closed the door with a wink. Moss blushed, rushing quickly into his room and locking the door behind him. He let out a deep breath, leaning against the door and clutching his bowl close to his chest. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he found himself glancing towards the wall that connected his room to Zach’s. Was he…  _ into  _ this? Was he into  _ Zach _ ? No, surely not, he told himself, eating another spoonful of “cereal”. He barely knew him. He couldn’t be into him. Could he? No. Maybe. Yes? Oh God, he was so confused. He put the bowl down on his bedside table, throwing himself down onto his bed with a sigh. He looked over to the wall again. He could faintly hear the sound of Guns and Roses through the wall. God, he was so  _ cool _ . 

He sighed heavily, turning onto his side to face the wall. Zach’s offer was stuck in his mind. He knew he should just disregard it, wait and get to know him better-- everyone experimented a bit in uni, right?-- but a small, rebellious part of him wanted to go back out there, knock on that door and take him up on that offer right now. 

At the same time, though, he was scared. Was he sure he wanted something like that? Okay, so  _ maybe  _ girls weren’t his thing, but what if he just hadn’t found the right one yet? He knew that was balderdash, but for some reason he continued to cling onto it, even though he’d admitted to himself that there really wasn’t any chance that he liked girls in that way. But guys? Did he like guys like that? He sighed again, hitting his head against the pillow. Who knows? 

A knock at his door brought him out of his thoughts. 

“Hey, Moss?” 

That was Zach. Shoot. He jumped up, straightening his clothes in the mirror and doing his best to make his hair look less wild and untamed. 

“Yeah?” he called back in his most convincing confident voice. 

“We’re going down the pub for a few drinks, want to come?” 

“Sure,” he replied, pulling on his trainers and grabbing his wallet from the side before looking at himself in the mirror. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he murmured to himself before opening the door and stepping into the corridor. 

Zach was waiting for him with a smile on his face. He was wearing smart black trousers and a tight silvery shirt. Moss smiled at him, suddenly conscious of his own checked shirt, old jeans and battered trainers. 

“You look lovely,” Zach said. Moss blushed, looking down. 

“So do you,” he said. Zach grinned at him. There were a couple of other guys, but Moss barely noticed that they were there. “Where are we going?” 

“Not sure,” Zach replied. They started to make their way down the stairs. “A few pubs, a few clubs. Just see where the drinks take us, I suppose.” 

They grinned at each other as they slipped out of the building into the balmy night air. Moss glanced down at his watch. It was 8:15 p.m. They’d have a few drinks, and he’d probably be back by about half eleven or so. 

***

It was 1:43 a.m., and they were still in the club. 

Moss had never been drunk, and he wasn’t too sure he actually liked it. He’d been drinking sugary sweet alcopops all night, mainly because they tasted the least like actual alcohol, and now he was paying for it. Everything was rather blurry, and he felt almost unattached from himself. He was standing against the wall, trying not to fall over as he watched Zach on the dance floor. He looked so  _ pretty  _ under the flashing club lights. Perfect hair, perfect teeth, perfect  _ everything _ . 

Zach danced his way over to him, putting one hand on the wall next to his head and leaning in close to him. Moss sucked in a deep breath, looking up at him. God, even his eyes were beautiful, a gorgeous sparkling blue with icy white specks. 

“Did you think about my offer?” Zach asked. His voice was a little slurred, but Moss could still make the words out. 

“Yes, I did,” he replied, struggling a little to get the words out. Zach smiled at him before swooping down and pressing a kiss onto his lips. 

Moss’ world simply exploded. Zach’s lips were soft and gentle, but also commanding, like they were telling him what to do. One hand was on Moss’ cheek, and Moss found himself reaching up and putting his hands on Zach’s waist. When Zach slipped in a little bit of tongue, he didn’t flinch away, instead pulling him closer to him. 

After a euphoric five or so minutes, Zach broke away. Moss whimpered a little, looking up at him. Had he done something wrong? 

“Let’s take this back to the dorm, yeah?” Zach whispered. “Rumours can fly around here.” 

Moss nodded as quickly as possible, putting his drink down and letting Zach hook his arm around his waist to lead him outside. 

***

They fell through the door into Zach’s room, laughing as Zach pulled Moss forward by the shirt to kiss him again. As he kicked the door shut, Zach shoved the other down onto the bed, locking the door before coming forward and sitting down on Moss’ lap, his legs straddling his hips. Moss tilted his head up, letting Zach trail kisses across his cheekbone and down his neck, finally coming to rest at his collarbone. He let out a small noise, pressing a shy kiss of his own to Zach’s neck. When he felt Zach shiver against him, a sense of pride shot through him. 

“God, you’re so beautiful,” Zach murmured, retracing his steps before kissing Moss firmly on the mouth. “So, so beautiful.” 

Moss nodded, reciprocating the kiss. He couldn’t speak, and even if he could there would be no words to describe what he was feeling. He could feel Zach’s fingers gently undoing the buttons on his shirt, but instead of swatting him away like he would have done with anyone else he found himself doing the same with Zach’s shirt, desperate to get another glimpse of that gorgeous six pack. 

“I’m gonna make you feel things,” Zach whispered as he finished unbuttoning Moss’ shirt, trailing his kisses even further down. Moss whimpered a little. “I’m gonna make you feel things you didn’t know you could feel.” 

Slowly, Zach reached for Moss’ belt buckle. All of a sudden, he seemed to come to his senses: all the alcohol fell away from him and he moved back a little. Zach looked up, confused. 

“Zach…” Moss said. “I like you. I think you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever met, but I don’t want to go… all the way. Not yet.” 

Moss half-expected Zach to climb off, for him to throw him out of his dorm and never speak to him again. Instead, he leant down and pressed a soft, sweet, gentle kiss to his lips, his hands in his hair. 

“Anything we get to do together,” Zach murmured as they broke away, “will be an honour for me.” 

He reached back down for the belt buckle, shooting him a questioning look. In answer, Moss surged up and kissed him passionately. 

***

The next morning he woke up almost completely naked, not in his own bed and with a pounding headache. 

He groaned, rolling over and then groaning again when the sunlight hit his eyes. He threw an arm over his eyes, the other one splaying out next to him. What had happened last night? He remembered drinks-- lots of drinks, in fact--, and a club, and then…

Oh.  _ Oh.  _

Suddenly, it made sense that he was only wearing his boxers and a single sock. Chancing it, he opened his eyes and slowly took his arm away from them. Sure enough, he was in Zach’s room, although Zach himself was nowhere to be seen. 

God, his stomach felt like it was being tossed around in a washing machine. He put a hand to his head, forcing himself to sit up. His clothes were in a pile in the corner. He chuckled a little, much to his own confusion, then looked to the bedside table. There was a note, a pill and a glass of water. Reaching over, he picked up the note and unfolded it. It read: 

_ Sorry I’m not here, I had an introduction class.  _

Panic swelled in his chest. Did he have a class? 

_ Don’t worry, I checked your timetable (it was in your pocket) and you don’t have anything until tomorrow.  _

Phew. He let out a sigh of relief. 

_ I really enjoyed last night. You’re surprisingly good: are you sure that was your first time with a guy? Anyway, I’ll be back later. Want to go for lunch when I get back?  _

_ Zach xx _

He smiled, feeling lighter as he read and re-read the note. He reached for the water, swallowing the pill in one gulp before drinking most of the water in one go. Quickly, he got dressed before scribbling Zach a short note back, saying that he would be delighted to go for lunch before slipping out and into his own room. 

Okay, so maybe he hadn’t been expecting to, ahem,  _ experiment  _ quite so early on in his university life, but he wasn’t exactly going to complain. Last night had been… wow. Just something else. And Zach, he was so gentle, so caring… not to mention handsome! He found himself smiling as he pottered around his room, not really doing much except feeling wretchedly sick and remembering to change his clothes after a few minutes. Alcohol he wasn’t too sure about, but guys? In that way? Well, he couldn’t really deny it now, not after last night. 

Part of him, however, was panicking. Now he had no excuse not to tell his mother about his little  _ situation _ . Before, he had always argued to Morgan that he’d never done anything with a guy, so how could he possibly know that he was into them? Now that excuse was null and void. He was going to  _ have  _ to talk to his mother about it at some point. He was dreading that conversation. She’d be alright with, or at least he was fairly sure she would be. She should be. Right? 

Whatever. There was no time to be worrying. He had to get ready for lunch with Zach. 

***

They ended up going to a small cafe in the town. It was quiet, with barely anyone except a few eldery pensioners in there. They took a seat in the corner at the back, tucked out of sight.

“How are you feeling?” Moss asked, leaning forward over the table. It only seemed fair to ask, as Zach had drank much more than him the night before. 

“Good,” Zach replied, smiling at him and reaching for his cup of tea. “You?” 

“I’m okay,” he said. He cleared his throat, steeling himself before saying, “so, last night…” 

“I enjoyed it,” Zach cut in. Moss mumbled something inaudible, looking down at the table. Zach reached over, putting his hand over the other’s. “Really, Moss. I wouldn’t mind seeing you again, if you wanted.” 

“Really?” Moss exclaimed before stopping for a moment, so as not to sound too eager. Zach laughed, nodding. “I’d… like that.” 

“Does Friday night work for you?” Zach asked. Moss nodded. “I’ll look forward to seeing you then.” 

He winked at him before putting some money down on the table and sashaying out of the cafe. 

***

Friday night became their regular thing. Sometimes they would go to Zach’s room, other times they would go to Moss’, but they always met at the university bar at exactly 8:27 p.m. They would have a couple of drinks, and then at 8:53 p.m. they would head up to whomever’s room they were going to stay in that night. Then at 6:08 the next morning, one of them would get up and quietly return to their own room, so nobody on the floor would see. 

On the sixth time it happened, they were lying in Zach’s bed. Moss’ head was resting on Zach’s bare chest, and Zach was messing with his hair. 

“Hey, so I won’t be able to do next week,” Zach mumbled. 

“Why not?” Moss asked sleepily as he snuggled into Zach. 

“My mum’s coming down for the weekend and I promised I’d take her out for dinner,” he said. Moss nodded. “You don’t mind, do you?” 

“No, of course not,” Moss said quickly. He looked up at him, reaching up and kissing him softly on the lips. “She’s your mum.” 

“Is your’s not coming down?” 

“No.” He shook his head, settling back down against Zach’s chest. “She has work.” 

They were quiet for a while, the only noise the music playing in the background and their breathing. Then Moss looked up and said, “are you going to tell her about us?” 

“What d’you mean,  _ us _ ?” Zach asked with a yawn. He sat up a little, as did Moss, who looked at him confusedly. 

“Well…” he murmured. “I thought…” 

“Moss, this is fun, but nothing more is going to happen between us,” Zach laughed. Moss felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. He looked at Zach with wide, confused eyes. “I’m not gay.” 

“But we--” 

“I’m not,” Zach said, a sense of finality to his voice. All of a sudden he sounded harsh and mean, and Moss fell silent immediately. “This is just what people do in uni, alright? I’m not about to go out with you and introduce you to my entire family.” He paused, looking down at the other. Moss was clearly upset, sniffing back tears. “Oh, don’t be such a baby about it, Moss. You knew what you were getting yourself into.” 

“No, I didn’t,” Moss mumbled under his breath before getting up and storming over to where his clothes were sitting. He began to pull them on angrily. Zach sat up in bed, watching him with a bemused look on his face. 

“Where are you going?” 

“Back to my room,” Moss replied as he buttoned up his shirt. 

“Aw, c’mon--” 

“No, Zach!” he yelled. The sound of his raised voice surprised both him and Zach, who fell suddenly quiet. “We won’t be doing this next week, or the week after that, or-or any week ever again. Go and find someone else to be  _ ‘not gay’ _ ,” (he made air quotes as he said this) “with.” 

Zach shrugged. 

“Fine by me.” 

There was so much more that Moss wanted to say, but he settled for glaring at Zach as he picked his shoes up and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. 

He rushed into his room, shutting and locking the door behind him. He threw his shoes against the wardrobe, suddenly furious. Why? Why had this happened again? Why was it that every time he finally thought he’d found someone, they turned out to be a complete  _ bastard _ !? He was shaking as he stood in the middle of the room, feeling almost lost. Why? 

Hot tears began to drip down his cheeks, and he let out a small sob. He really thought he could have had something with Zach. Something special. And yet no. He was wrong again. He felt stupid, so stupid. Why hadn’t he seen it? He should have seen it! 

Was he ever going to meet the one? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise Roy is going to show up next chapter, I promise. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and the next one will be out on Friday!!! Keep an eye out!


	7. Finally! I've Waited Long Enough!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES ROY IS HERE OKAY 
> 
> Sorry this chapter is so short (only 3K) but the next one will be longer I promise!! Plus it's a day early sooooooo....
> 
> Anyhoo, enjoy!! Please leave comments and kudos if you can, I'd love to hear from you guys

**_Six years later: 2001_ **

The rest of university slipped by surprisingly quickly. In time, the pain of Zach’s betrayal faded: he never forgot, but as time went on he learned to move past it. He ended up graduating his course with honours, with a new group of nerdy friends and a positive outlook on life. He had the world at his feet. 

And yet he moved back home with his mother. 

He had his degree, and he did want to start working in an IT Department somewhere, but every time he went to even apply for a job he was filled with such an overwhelming sense of dread that he found himself having to sit with his head between his knees taking puffs on his inhaler as so not to pass out. 

Of course he helped out around the house and everything. He even braved the awful bright lights and horrible buzzing sounds of the supermarket once or twice a week for his mother to help her out. He remembered late 1999 like it was yesterday… 

_ “Moss! You need to go to the supermarket right now!”  _

_ “Why?” Moss groaned, turning away from the TV to face his mother. She had a wild look in her eyes.  _

_ “Y2K!” she yelled.  _

_ “What?” he said. She glared at him, running into the kitchen. Curious, he got up and followed her into the kitchen. She was pulling the cupboards open and emptying them out onto the counter, counting everything as she did so. “What’s Y2K?”  _

_ “You’re into computers, aren’t you?” she said, glancing up at him. “They’re saying that when we go into the new year, all the computers are going to crash and everything will go wrong! We need to stock up!”  _

_ She went back to what she was doing. Moss thought for a moment, gave his mother a confused look and then reached over and stopped her, holding her hands in his.  _

_ “Mum, I don’t think that’s right,” he said. She looked up at him, hope and confusion in her eyes.  _

_ “But I heard…”  _

_ “Even if there is a problem, I’m sure it’ll get fixed,” he reassured her, steering her away from the kitchen and into the living room. “Why don’t we have a cup of tea, and then put the kitchen back together?” _

_ She smiled at him and nodded.  _

Now it was 2001, it was his twenty-fourth birthday and he still didn’t have a job. 

Most of the day he had spent moping, to be perfectly honest. By the time he woke up, his mother had already left for work, so the house was empty. An unusual melancholy feeling hanging over him, he couldn’t be bothered to get dressed and so spent the day lying on the sofa, watching terrible daytime television whilst eating Smarties tube-by-tube. His mother came home at around five, and he just  _ knew  _ she was ashamed of him, so he turned and curled into the sofa so he didn’t have to face it all. 

He felt the sofa dip a little and then his mother’s hand was sort of petting his hair. It was comforting in a strange way. He sighed against the sofa cushion. 

“Oh, love,” she said sympathetically. 

“I’m going  _ nowhere _ ,” he murmured, his voice muffled by the cushion. “I’m twenty-four and I’ve done  _ nothing  _ with my life.” 

“Well that’s not true,” his mother replied, stroking his hair. “You’ve graduated from Cambridge, one of, if not the best university in the country.” 

“But I still don’t have a job,” he said. He turned around, facing her with a pout on his face. 

“That’ll come in time,” she told him with a smile. “Come on, it’s your birthday, sweetie! Let’s have a cuppa, then you’ll probably feel a bit better.” 

He nodded, getting up off the sofa for the first time in seven hours. He shook his legs out as he followed his mother to the kitchen. As he stood waiting for her to make the drinks, his mother turned to him and said, 

“Oh, there’s a box of old stuff upstairs in the spare room. Can you sort through it later?” 

“Sure,” he said. 

“Are you sure that’s alright?” she asked, looking at him anxiously. He smiled and nodded. 

“Of course.” 

***

Later that night, after presents, dinner and cake, he found himself sitting cross-legged upstairs, going through a musty cardboard box filled with old family trinkets. He had no idea that they had all of this stuff! There were pictures, postcards and small items, all linked in one way or another to the family. He had found stacks and stacks of pictures, including a pile of Polaroids from his parents’ honeymoon along with a strip of black-and-white pictures from a photo machine. 

His parents looked so happy in those pictures. In one particular picture, his mother and father were standing by a railing, their backs to a beautiful coastline. His father was standing behind his mother, his arms around her shoulders as if to say  _ she’s mine, people _ . She was smiling up at him. Neither of them were looking at the camera: they only had eyes for each other. Moss smiled, setting the stack to the side and pulling out the next stack that was bound with a thick rubber band. 

The first picture was an ultrasound scan. There was a note scrawled on it that read “ _ only 20 weeks until we meet our baby boy!”.  _ It wasn’t his mother’s handwriting, so he could only assume that the note had been written by his father. Underneath that was a picture of his mother, heavily pregnant but grinning at the camera. On the back of the picture, in the same handwriting, was the words “ _ Any day now! Can’t wait to meet you baby boy xx”.  _ After that, a picture of his mother, looking tired but happy with a small bundle in her arms that he could only presume was him as a baby. Then a picture of his father lying on the bed next to his mother, his arm around her and his eyes on his son. And then what seemed like a million pictures of him being held by tons of different relatives. He chuckled a little, setting the pictures down and picking up the last in the stack. 

It was just him and his father in this one. He was only small, maybe two or so, and he was sitting on his father’s shoulders. Both of them were smiling as they looked at each other. His chubby fingers were curled around his father’s hand. A pang of sadness shot through his stomach as he stared at the picture. Gently, he turned it over. Sure enough, there was a note in his father’s handwriting on this one as well. It read: 

_ 12th June 1979: your second birthday already! You said another word today: yes. That makes three now. The doctor says it’s probably just some developmental delays, and not to worry too much about it, but I can’t help it sometimes.  _

_ You won’t remember this, but we went out to Hyde Park and spent the day just the three of us. You seemed to love it, toddling around and trying to scare away the pigeons. They’re London pigeons, lad, they’re not scared of anyone! It was sweet to watch, though.  _

_ We talked today, after we put you to bed, about maybe having another child. Your mum decided that we should wait until he’s older, maybe six or so. I think you’d love a little sibling. Remember, kid, I’ll always give you more than I get. I love you more than anything in the world.  _

_ Dad xx _

Had he been… supposed to be given this box? He grabbed a few more pictures, including some of the ones he’d already looked at, and sure enough, if he was in them then his father had written him a note on the back. He gasped, dropping the photos on his lap and bringing his hands to his mouth. 

It was almost like his father had  _ known  _ that something was going to happen to him. Everything was incredibly personal, and they were all addressed to him. Suddenly stirred to action, he pulled out all of the photos and started to make a pile of all of the ones with him in them that had lengthy notes on the back. It took a while-- there were a lot of pictures-- but soon enough he had a stack of about thirty or so photos. Shoving everything back into the box, he tucked himself into a corner, going through the photos and reading each note carefully. 

One particular note stuck out to him. It was on the back of a picture of him on his first day at primary school, standing on the doorstep and grinning at the camera. Moss couldn’t imagine how long it must have taken his mother to get that picture. It said:

_ 9th September 1981: your first day of primary school. You might not speak much, if at all, but I already know that you’re going to be a little genius. I don’t care what anyone else says, because I know that you’re cleverer than both me and your mother. You’ll shine. I think you’ll end up at Cambridge or Oxford!  _

That made him smile a little. All along, his father had been right without even knowing it. He kept reading. 

_ How are you? I don’t know when you’ll be reading this, or whether I’m still there, but I hope you’re doing well. Are you looking after your mother? Silly question, I know you will be. I hope you’re doing what you love, mini-Moss. That’s always the best thing to do. Love is the best thing, son. Trust me.  _

_ Proud of you always, _

_ Dad xx _

Slowly, he put the picture down, sucking in a deep breath. Would his dad be proud of him if he was here? Would he be proud of him not having a job and sitting in the house, stagnating, day in, day out? No, he probably, wouldn’t, Moss decided. He hauled himself up, going over to the computer and starting it up. He opened up Google, and typed  _ ‘IT jobs near me’ _ . 

No backing out this time. 

*** 

Reynholm Industries was big. 

Very,  _ very  _ big. 

He’d already been there once before, for his interview, but seeing the building a second time only reinforced to him just how big it really was. As he walked into the lobby, he went over the instructions in his head again:  _ go in, get the lift to the thirtieth floor, tell the receptionist your name, she’ll tell you where to go.  _ He took a deep breath, straightening his tie and heading over to the lift. It seemed to take forever to come, and he couldn’t help but think that everyone was staring at him as he stood there waiting. As soon as the doors slid open he jumped in, smashing the button for the thirtieth floor and praying that no-one else came in. Thankfully nobody did, and it was a solitary journey up thirty floors. 

When he stepped out, the first thing he saw was the spectacular view. A high-up view of the city was always best, Moss thought, and he took a moment to appreciate it before he moved on towards the bored-looking receptionist. 

“Maurice Moss?” he said when he reached her, somehow managing to sound confused about his own name. “I’m new… IT?” 

“Just take a seat in the office down the hall,” she replied. She didn’t bother to look up at him. “Mr Reynholm will be with you shortly.” 

He gulped, nodding and making his way down the hallway, clutching the straps of his backpack. The door to the office was already open and he slipped in, taking a seat in the chair in front of the desk. 

It was awkward being alone in a big, intimidating office with nothing in particular to focus on. Glancing around, he found himself gazing at the picture on the wall. He could only assume that that was Mr Reynholm. Did every new employee have to meet with the head CEO? He ran his hand along his thigh just as he heard the door shut behind him, and Mr Reynholm came and sat down behind the desk. 

He didn’t speak for a minute or so, instead staring at Moss intensely. Moss tried his best to meet his gaze, but ultimately couldn’t, instead dropping his gaze to the desk. 

“I find the best way to size up a new employee is with a long, hard stare,” Deynholm said as he clasped his hands on top of the desk. Moss chanced a look up. “So, you’re the new IT man!” 

“Yes, sir,” Moss replied quietly. 

“You’ll be in the basement,” Deynholm said. “After what happened with the last IT Department, we decided it was better for you people to be down there.” 

“What happened with the last IT Department?” 

“Legally I cannot tell you.” 

Moss flinched. It must have been bad, then. “You can see yourself down there?” 

He nodded jerkily. After waiting for a moment thinking that Deynholm was going to say something else, he got up, speed walked out of the office and got into the lift. 

Somehow, the descent into the basement felt like it took even longer than the first trip to the thirtieth floor. Especially towards the end, the lift faltered and juttered. When he finally did reach the basement, he had to force the doors open, walk down a scary corridor with bad lighting and strange leaky pipes before reaching the open door marked  _ ‘IT Department’.  _ Taking a deep breath, he ventured into the office. 

Already the room was cluttered with old bits of circuit board and disconnected monitors. Even at a cursory glance, Moss could see a few rare tidbits in there: namely the ZX82 he could see poking out from underneath a mountain of tangled wires. The nerd inside of him was vibrating with excitement. There were two desks, both empty except for the standard company-issue computer. 

Tentatively, Moss came forward and took the desk nearest to the door. The seat was surprisingly comfortable. There was a sofa as well, pushed up towards the wall, and a television. All in all, he thought that it could be quite a nice office, if only it had some decoration!

Was it just him in this department? He furrowed his brow, glancing around the room again. There was no sign of any other life in there… He shrugged as he took his coat off, hanging it off the back of his chair before getting his laptop out of his bag and setting it on the desk. He stretched out, putting his hands behind his head with a satisfied sigh. Yes, this was going to be alright after all. 

“Sorry, is this the IT Department?” 

The sudden arrival of the Irish-accented voice made him physically jump. He sat up, whipping his head to the side so fast that he nearly got whiplash in order to see who it was.

It was a man. A tall man, to be exact. He had greasy hair that looked like it had once been very curly, but was now starting to give up a little bit, and an expectant look on his face. He was in jeans, a t-shirt with the word “no” written on it and a hooded jacket, with a satchel slung across his torso. He had a vaguely unkempt look about it and already looked done with everything, but Moss barely noticed that as he struggled to get air into his lungs. 

This was it. This was the one. He knew it. 

“Yes,” he heard himself saying. The man nodded, coming into the room. He did the same crude examination as Moss had done, and Moss noticed appreciatively that his eyes boggled when he spotted the ZX82. Then, the man came over and stood in front of Moss’ desk, holding his hand out. Moss took it nervously. 

“Roy Trenneman,” the man said once they’d shaken hands. “I didn’t know there was gonna be anyone else down here.” 

“Neither did I,” Moss replied. His voice was shaking slightly, he could feel it. 

“You’re new too?” Roy asked as he went over to the other desk and plopped down in the seat with a groan. Moss nodded. “Who are you?” 

“Oh!” Moss exclaimed, feeling a little silly all of a sudden. “Maurice Moss, but most people just call me Moss.” 

“Well, nice to meet you, Moss,” Roy said with a smile, taking off his satchel and pulling out a laptop almost identical to Moss’ own. “Are the phones connected up yet?” 

In answer, the one on Roy’s desk rang shrilly. Moss watched as Roy sighed and shook his head before picking it up. 

“Hello, IT? Have you tried turning it off or on again?” 

There was a pause, Roy nodded and then he put down the phone! Moss blinked in surprise, shocked. Roy looked up and noticed him gawping. “What?” 

“What if there was something wrong with that computer?” he asked. Roy chuckled, shaking his head. 

“This is my third job like this,” he replied. “All you have to do is ask them if they’ve turned it off and on again, make sure they’ve got it plugged in and that’s ninety percent of your job done for you.” 

“Really?” 

“Haven’t you done this before?” 

Blushing, Moss shook his head and looked down at his desk. Roy was quiet for a moment before he said, 

“Well, I s’pose you’ll learn.” 

This preceded an entire hour’s worth of silence, bar the occasional clicking and grunts of “have you tried turning it off and on again?”. Just before lunchtime, Moss mustered all of his courage and got up, walking over and standing in front of Roy’s desk. Roy gave him a strange look. 

“Did you  _ see  _ that original ZX82?” he asked, putting on his best happy face. Roy’s face lit up as he nodded enthusiastically. 

“Oh thank God you said something,” he joked. “I was worried I was in here with someone who didn’t know anything about computers!”

Moss laughed, shaking his head. 

“I know!” he replied. “Who  _ wouldn’t  _ notice that!?” 

They chatted for the rest of the day, talking about interests and hobbies and general life. Moss held off on anything too personal for now, but Roy was more than happy to divulge about his childhood in Ireland and his family life. They sounded like a tight-knit family. They were very very similar, by all accounts, except for one  _ minor  _ detail. 

Roy, judging off the amount of moaning he’d done about his last girlfriend, was entirely straight. 

Of course! This was just Maurice Moss’ terrible luck coming into play once again! Of course he was going to fall for someone who wasn’t even into guys! And he knew, he just  _ knew  _ that Roy was the one. The minute he’d clapped eyes on him he’d known. He’d felt it, deep down in his chest. Roy was  _ the  _ one. The real one. 

And yet it seemed he would never love him back in  _ that  _ way. 

_ Still _ , Moss thought as Roy continued to tell him at length about his supposedly terrible breakup.  _ Maybe I can get a best friend out of this?  _ After all, a best friend was better than nothing at all, wasn’t it? 

Because Maurice Moss had finally met the one. It was just a little different to what he expected. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be out on Saturday!!


	8. Amsterdam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can guess where this is going. I am so sorry it is a day late, but I was drained last night and just... couldn't finish it. This chapter is very short, I'm sorry, but I'm going to take a bit longer for the final chapter and aim for about 6K-8K words. I really hope you enjoy this, and please drop a kudos or a comment if you can!!

Exactly two years to the day after they’d started working together, Roy came running into the office with a huge grin on his face and a piece of card in his hand. 

“I just won three grand on a scratchcard!” he shouted excitedly. 

“What?” Moss exclaimed, looking up from his computer in surprise. Roy nodded, an ecstatic look on his face as he came over and slammed the scratchcard down onto the desk. 

“I only bought it so I wouldn’t get any change,” he said with a grin. “And I’ve won three grand!” 

Moss picked the card up, examining it thoroughly and checking the rules, along with the numbers. Roy did have a tendency to get excited and not read things properly. But no, he really had won! Moss smiled at him, handing the ticket back. 

“Well done,” he said. Roy grinned, shaking his head in disbelief as he looked down at the ticket. “What are you going to do with the money?” 

“Well, pay this month’s rent, I suppose,” Roy replied, going over to his own desk and sitting down on his own office chair with a sigh of contentment. “Then I was thinking you and I could go away for a few days.” 

Moss felt his heart flutter at that. A few days away? Just the two of them? Maybe he had been wrong: maybe something would happen between them after all! Roy’s next words, however, sunk his hopes. 

“I was thinking a proper lads’ weekend away.” 

“Lads’ weekend, yeah,” Moss echoed as he tried to hide his disappointment. Of course. He should have known not to get his hopes up.

“Are you free next weekend?” Roy asked after a few minutes of tapping around on his computer. Moss looked up from his laptop. 

“Yeah, why?” 

Roy smiled a self-assured smile, dramatically clicking the enter key and leaning back in his chair with a happy sigh. 

“We’re going to Amsterdam!” he said. 

“What?” Moss exclaimed before he could stop himself. 

“I just got the plane tickets!” 

“Where will we stay? What will we do?” he asked. He could feel his chest getting a little tight. There was no plan! What was Roy thinking? The money had already gone to his head. Roy shrugged, spinning around his chair. 

“I don’t know, I’ll find something,” he said. He went back to his computer, and not even five minutes later looked up triumphantly. “There, sorted.” 

“When are we leaving?” Moss asked as he got up and began to pace the office to stretch his legs. He’d been sitting down all day now. 

“Er-r-r, the flight is at half ten Friday morning,” Roy replied, squinting at the screen. “Yeah, half ten.” 

“Will we get the time off?” 

“Probably,” Roy said. “If not, we’ll just pull sickies.” 

Moss frowned, chewing on his lip. Pulling a “sickie”? Wasn’t that not allowed? He shrugged to himself, deciding not to think too much about it. Amsterdam, though. Seemed like a fitting place to go for his first trip out of the UK. 

“Alright then,” he said, smiling at Roy, who grinned right back. “Amsterdam.”

***

When he told his mother, however, she was not quite so enthusiastic. 

“Amsterdam?” she said skeptically over dinner. Moss nodded, looking down at his plate rather than up at her. “Really?” 

“He’s already booked the tickets,” he said quietly. 

“Do you know what happens to boys like you in places like that?” she asked. He shook his head, stabbing at a chip. “It’s a bad idea, Moss.”

“But he’s booked everything now,” he said a little petulantly. His mother sighed, looking back down to her meal. 

“Just be careful, okay?” she asked. He nodded. 

“I will be.” 

“And do  _ not  _ touch any of those special brownies!” 

***

As soon as they got through Security and into duty-free, Roy began to drink. Heavily. 

“You gotta start early,” he told him as he downed half a pint in one go. Moss frowned at him, eyeing his pint with suspicion. “We’re going to be drinking a  _ lot _ , Moss. This is just the start!” 

Moss shrugged, picking his drink up and taking a sip. He coughed and spluttered, quickly putting it back down. Roy burst into laughter, polishing off his own drink before taking Moss’ and starting to drink it. 

“How do you  _ drink  _ that?” Moss gasped, giving him a horrified look. Roy shrugged. 

“You get used to the taste after a few drinks,” he replied. Moss shook his head, baffled. Roy chuckled, gesturing to the barman. Two more pints rapidly appeared in front of them. “It helps if you neck ‘em,” Roy added. They clinked their glasses together, Moss thought  _ well, it can’t get much worse than this _ , and they began to drink. 

***

Moss had been drunk before, but he’d never been  _ this  _ drunk. 

They had been in Amsterdam for three hours now, drinking for two-and-a-half of them. The only reason they had left the bar was because they could finally check into their little apartment. Roy had shown him pictures during the week, and Moss hadn’t said anything but he privately thought that it looked like a bit of a dump. Nevertheless, it had been cheap and it was only for three nights. They were stumbling through the back alleys, trying to find the tiny office building where the keys to their apartment were being kept. Both of them were considerably drunk. 

“We’re not gonna ‘member  _ any  _ of this,” Roy slurred, one hand on a wall to keep himself steady. Moss nodded, squinting ahead. Everything was blurry and horrible. Maybe there was something wrong with his glasses? He took them off, holding them loosely on the arm. No, that wasn’t much better. He stumbled forward, barely noticing the fat ginger cat that was sitting on the step swipe his glasses away from his loose grip. The office had to be around here somewhere? He kept walking forwards, forwards, forwards until he heard Roy scream his name, and all of a sudden there was no ground beneath his right foot.

He flailed for a moment, almost pitching forward before he managed to catch his balance and stumble back. Squinting, he realised that that empty space had in fact been a canal, and he had very nearly walked into it. Whipping around, he could just about make out Roy, who was doubled over and seemed to be crying with laughter. 

“You just!” he howled. “And then you…!” 

He dissolved back into laughter. Moss mustered up his best glare, but soon found himself laughing along with Roy. He reached into his pocket, reasoning that he must have put his glasses in there. 

They weren’t there. 

“Roy!” he called. Roy looked up at him with a beaming grin. “I’ve lost my glasses!” 

“Have you got a spare pair?” Roy shouted back. Moss shrugged, unsure. Then, out of the blurriness, the name of an office building jumped out at him. 

The keys! 

He pointed, turning back to Roy with an excited look on his face. Roy came ambling down the street towards him. When he saw the building Moss was pointing at, his face split into a huge smile. 

“You found it!” he exclaimed, pulling him into a hug. Moss, unusually, hugged him back. 

They staggered inside, and after ten minutes of slurred shouting managed to get their keys. From there, it was a fifteen-minute walk to the apartment, then a five-minute struggle to unlock the door, which wasn’t all too bad considering they were both pissed and one of them was visually impaired more than usual. Once they were inside, Moss managed to find his spare pair of glasses hidden in his luggage whilst Roy dumped his stuff, mumbling about going out to buy some beer. 

“Are we going back out?” Moss asked a little fearfully as he adjusted the glasses. They were his old prescription, really not that good but better than nothing at all. Roy shook his head, trying and failing to stand from the bed. 

“Nah,” the Irishman murmured with a giggle. “We’ll get some beer and stay ‘ere.” 

Moss nodded. Nobody moved for a good few minutes, and then Moss had the sense to ask, 

“Do you want me to go and buy some?” 

Roy nodded, throwing some notes in Moss’ general direction. 

“And get the good stuff!” he hollered as Moss shut the door. 

The good stuff? What was the good stuff? Moss tried to cast his mind back to the far-flung memory of this morning, but his mind was hazy and fuzzy. What had they been drinking? Was it Carling? Yes, he thought it was Carling. 

The shop, luckily, was mostly empty and he was in and out in a matter of minutes. As he was walking back to the apartment, both arms weighed down by bags stuffed with boxes of beer, it suddenly struck him that he wasn’t sure there was a  _ fridge  _ in the flat. How were they going to keep it cold? To be honest, it didn’t phase him too much, as he was sure it would be fairly disgusting either way, but he thought that maybe Roy would want them cold. 

When he got back to the apartment, though, it became abruptly clear that there would barely be time for the beers to go cold at the rate Roy was drinking them. Moss watched, amazed, as one-by-one Roy emptied cans, crushed them and pitched them into the bin in the corner of the room. After watching this spectacle for a while, Moss decided to give it a go: he didn’t have the technique, though, and halfway through the can he began to cough and splutter, much to Roy’s amusement. 

“You’re so silly,” Roy laughed, finished off another can before getting up and sitting down on the bed next to his best friend. Moss smiled weakly, looking down at the can. There was the name of a town on it. He could only presume that had been where it had been made, but he was so drunk that he wasn’t really sure. 

Roy sighed, resting his head against Moss’ shoulder. Instinctively, Moss put his arm around his shoulders. 

“You know what’s weird?” Roy asked. Moss made a non-committal noise, gesturing for him to continue. “I find you really pretty.” 

“You-you do?” Moss replied, heart hammering. 

“Yeah,” Roy said, his words slurring. He yawned against Moss’ shoulder. “And not like, appreciative pretty. Like, a pretty girl pretty.” 

Moss was sure that his heart was going to burst right out of his chest. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. And yet he’d just heard what Roy had said as plain as day. He stared at him, eyes wide. 

“Really?” he said, feeling a little skeptical. 

“Rea-a-a-ally!” Roy chuckled. They were both quiet for a moment. Roy tilted his head upwards, gazing into Moss’ eyes. 

He couldn’t help himself. Roy was the  _ one _ : he just had to know what it was like. Tentatively, he leant down and pressed his lips to Roy’s. 

Roy didn’t push him away, or even react negatively in any way. In fact, he leant into it, pulling Moss closer. As his heart began to beat faster and faster, Moss deepened the kiss. Roy reciprocated, and it wasn’t long until they were lying down, Roy lying on top of Moss, Moss’ hands up Roy’s shirt and Roy’s hands in Moss’ hair. 

After an indeterminate amount of time (Moss had stopped counting after five minutes), Roy broke away, looking down at Moss, who smiled at him. 

“Moss…” he murmured. 

“Yeah?” Moss said, taking his hands away from under Roy’s shirt and resting one on the Irishman’s cheek. 

“We can’t be doing this.” 

Of course. He should have known this was too good to be true. He suppressed a sigh, looking up at Roy. He looked so gorgeous sitting there, his pupils wide from the alcohol with the light bouncing off of them. Alas. Somehow, deep down, Moss knew that even if this was all it was meant to be, at least he’d had this opportunity. 

“Okay,” he said, his voice soft. “If that’s what you want.” 

Roy crawled off of him, sitting down on the edge of the bed and putting his head in his hands. If Moss hadn’t known better, he would have thought he was crying. He watched him, feeling uncomfortable. It was like he was watching something incredibly private. He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes to try and keep himself awake. 

Yeah, that was why. 

“I know,” Roy said. This came after nearly half an hour of awkward silence, and took Moss a little by surprise. He looked up, quickly wiping his eyes. 

“What?” 

“Let’s hire prostitutes!”

Oh dear. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter should be out by Friday. I know, I know, longer than usual, but I want to make the last one extra special (not in that way either, perverts XD). 
> 
> Stay safe and well, y'all xx


	9. The Final Showdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, it's nearly over!! This is honestly the longest chapter I've ever written, at over 9k words long. Thank you so much for all your support, and extra special thanks to my beta @Demonic_Angel_511 Couldn't have done it without your unwavering support, I am indebted to you!!
> 
> Without further ado, onto this, the final "proper" chapter!
> 
> ((Also thank you to my wonderful beta for starting me off with this chapter, I was really struggling!!))

Moss didn't know which was worse: Roy telling him he'd started dating someone, or Roy telling him he'd broken up with someone. 

The first hurt more personally, the ache in his chest when he knew that someone else was in the position he wanted more than anything. However, the second hurt Roy, and he couldn't bear it when Roy was hurting.

Usually, Moss could see from a mile off when Roy was going to get broken up with--it did tend to be that Roy was the dumpee, not the dumper-- but it had honestly been a shock with Alice. Yes, Roy’s insane laughter at her grandfather’s funeral probably hadn’t helped matters, but he would have thought this would have just been a very big argument, not a break-up. And then Roy had tried so hard to get back with her, but his desperation had blindsided him to her agony with the pepper spray. The thing is, Roy had barely had time to be upset because then Douglas was bursting into the basement and telling them about the disastrous party. 

Somehow, in the midst of the mess, they’d ended up upstairs, and Moss wasn’t exactly sure he liked it all that much. 

You see, he actually quite liked the basement. He was used to it. He knew where everything was, and where not to stand because the flooring was a bit rickety, and where to get the best phone reception. He knew how to stop people getting in, and where to hide if they did. Upstairs, everything was so open. There were people everywhere all the time, passing through their office up there whenever it pleased them. 

So that’s why he found himself knocking on Jen’s office door for the fourth time that week. 

“Come in!” Jen called, trying to sound cheery but not doing it very well. He went in, slamming the door behind him and throwing himself down in the cushioned chair in front of her desk. She looked up from her computer at him, concerned. “Are you alright, Moss?” 

“Can you stop those people coming through our office?” he said bitterly, folding his arms across his chest. “It’s very distracting!” 

“Moss, it’s an open plan office, you know I can’t,” she replied. “I told you yesterday, and the day before, and--” 

“Well, then I want to go back downstairs!” 

Jen stopped, looking up at him properly. He was pouting, doing his best to look fierce. The problem was, his bottom lip was wobbling and there were clearly tears in his eyes. 

“Did something happen?” she asked. He shook his head. 

“No. What would have happened?” 

“I don’t know, you just seem…” Jen trailed off, gesturing uselessly. “I don’t know.” 

“I’m fine,” he said on instinct. Jen narrowed her eyes at him. 

“You sure?” she said suspiciously. 

“Yes, why not?” 

“Aha!” she exclaimed, slamming her hand down on the desk and pointing at him. He gave her a perturbed look. “You’re lying!” 

“I’m not!” he shot back

“You are!” she said, looking far too pleased with herself. He looked down at the floor as he felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment. “See?”

“How did you know?” he murmured. She smiled gently at him, clasping her hands on top of the desk.

“You’re an open book,” she said. “Is it something between you and Roy?” 

“No, nothing like that,” he said quickly. She narrowed her eyes. “Really, Jen. It isn’t.”

“You know I will just ask Roy if you don’t tell me.” 

“Fine!” he snapped, temper suddenly fraying. “See how I ruddy care!” 

Glaring at her, he got up and sprinted out of her office, ignoring her calls for him to come back. He sprinted straight through the office, not responding to Roy’s concerned shouts and heading straight for that good old refuge of the bathroom. He stormed in, scaring a woman doing her makeup in the mirror into scrawling eyeliner across her face, and locked himself in a stall, only letting out a breath when the door was shut and firmly locked. 

Whenever he was in conflict with himself, Moss realised as he sat there, knees drawn up to his chest and face buried in them, he always seemed to find himself in a bathroom somewhere. It was the one place, he mused, where you were guaranteed some privacy. Especially if you remembered to lock the door. 

Why couldn’t they go back downstairs? He didn’t understand it. It wasn’t like there was anyone  _ in  _ the basement, and they’d left everything exactly as it was supposed to be. He and Roy had proved for twelve years that they could work from down there. They didn’t belong up here: that was the simple truth. Downstairs was their domain, and it had been taken from them rather harshly and unfairly, he felt. 

Why had it gone away? 

***

“Do you have any idea what is going on with him?” Jen asked as Roy followed her into her office. She looked around almost conspiritally and closed the door behind her. They sat side-by-side on her office sofa. 

“I don’t know, he’s been off for weeks,” Roy said, scratching his head absent-mindedly. Jen furrowed her eyebrows. 

“Has he?” 

“Yeah, worse than when he thought we were an old married couple.” 

They both fell silent, thinking for a moment. 

“We’ve been here for four months now,” Jen said. “But it’s only been the last two weeks that he’s started complaining about it.” 

All of a sudden, Roy’s eyes widened and he fixed Jen with a stricken look. 

“What did he say?” he asked. Jen opened her mouth to answer, but he cut her off. “Jen, this is important. What are the exact words he used?” 

“Um, I don’t know!” she said, making a face. “I think he said something like  _ why did the basement have to go away  _ yesterday.” She shrugged. “I don’t know what he meant, it’s not like the basement disappeared just because we’re not down there!” 

She began to chuckle, but Roy’s next question, laden with worry and fear, stopped her short. 

“What’s the date?” 

“Seventeenth of May, why?” she said, glancing down at her watch. When she looked up at Roy, she saw that he was swearing under his breath. “Roy?” 

“I’ll explain later,” he said quickly before getting up and rushing out of the office. 

Jen was left sitting alone and feeling very confused. 

***

In the bathroom stall, Moss was staring down at his phone and debating sending Roy a text. 

This internal debate happened, on average, once or twice a year. Maybe more if things were particularly bad. It usually involved turning his phone on and off at least thirty times, a few tears and a lot of screaming into various soft furnishings. The message that he kept writing and then deleting was a very long paragraph detailing exactly how he felt about him. There were a lot of capitals, and the word  _ love  _ had to be used at least once every sentence. He wasn’t very good with words when he was speaking, you see, so Moss knew that if, one day, he ever actually told Roy how he felt, it would be over text or email. 

He’d typed out the message and deleted it five times already. He’d just written it out again, and was staring at it, his finger hovering over the  _ send  _ button. Should he? Should he finally tell Roy how he felt, after all these years? Would he love him back? Would he hate him once he read the message? Would he never speak to him again? Sucking in a deep breath, he hastily deleted the message again, shutting the messages app and clicking his phone off. No. He couldn’t send it. 

“Moss! Where are you?” 

Shoot. That was Roy. He froze up, staring at the door in silent panic. What did he do now? He didn’t know what stall he was in, at least. He quietly wrapped his arms around his knees, hugging them tightly and breathing shallowly. There was a bang on the door. 

Double shoot. 

“I know you’re in there!” Roy shouted. He sounded furious as he banged on the door again. Moss suppressed a whimper, curling further in on himself. “Moss! Can you hear me?” 

“I can hear you,” he whispered. The banging stopped, thank God, and he chanced a look upwards. 

“Are you alright?” Roy asked. 

“I’m fine,” Moss said, his voice still quiet.

“Are you sure? Because Jen said you yelled at her then ran away.” 

He winced, glancing down at his phone that was sitting in his lap. Should he text Roy now? Wait and listen to him read the message from behind the door. No, that would be too painful. If Roy was going to cut off all contact with him, he’d rather not be there when it happened. 

“I just…” he started, sighing heavily. Why did he always end up telling Roy everything? “I just miss the basement.” 

“I think you miss more than the basement,” Roy said gently. Moss fixed the door with a strange look. “You’ve been off for a few weeks, and I didn’t think much of it, but then I saw the date today and…” 

Of course. The seventeenth of May. He never forgot the seventeenth of May. This year, especially, was particularly difficult. 

Because today marked thirty years since his father’s death. 

It may have been thirty years, but it was still just as hard. All day, he had been trying to shake off the feeling of helplessness, trying to forget the frantic beeping, the screams of  _ “clear!”,  _ and his mother’s anguished cries when everything had finally grown silent. Even at lunchtime when Evelyn from Marketing had used the microwave, the beeping had taken him right back to being six years old again, standing alone outside of that closed door. 

“I’m fine,” he said again, clenching his fists against his legs. 

“I know it’s hard--” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Moss--”

“I said I’m fine!” 

The harshness and volume of his voice took both of them aback. Outside of the stall, Roy sighed, leaning his forehead against the door. Inside, Moss was struggling not to cry. 

“Sorry,” he murmured. 

“‘S alright,” Roy replied. “Have you been to the graveyard yet?” 

“My mother and I went this morning,” Moss said quietly. “But I was going to go again after work.” 

“You shouldn’t have even come in today,” the Irishman said through the door. Moss nodded miserably, hanging his head. Roy was right. He knew Roy was right. Roy was almost always right. “Especially this year.” 

“It’s silly,” Moss said. “It was thirty years ago!” 

“He was your dad,” Roy replied softly. Moss sniffed back tears. “Nothing’s gonna change that.” There was a pause. “Look, I’ll drive you up there during lunch if you want?” 

“You don’t have to,” Moss said as quickly as he could. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Roy there. It was private. 

“It’s alright, really,” Roy insisted. “I won’t come in with you, I’ll just wait round the corner or something. Whatever you want.” 

Moss looked at the door. It  _ would  _ be easier than walking or getting the bus. He could trust Roy, right? Sighing, he got up and unlocked the door, swinging it open. Roy gave him a tired yet happy smile. 

“Fine,” Moss said. “But you do not come in with me.” 

“Deal.” 

***

The graveyard gates were large and intimidating, made of wrought iron and weathered from years of wind and rain. Moss gulped as he looked up at them, clutching at the straps of his backpack. He always felt like this whenever he came here, like he was tiny and could be crushed at any moment. He steeled himself, pressing forward and walking past the gates and into the graveyard. He speedwalked down the path, staring down at the gravel and trying to avoid the eyes of the few others that were there. After a minute or two, he turned right, and then left, and then right again. 

There, tucked away in a quiet corner under a cherry blossom, was his father’s gravestone. 

It was made of shiny black granite, one of the most expensive that had been available at the time. His father’s name, along with the dates of his birth and death, were inscribed in gold lettering. Underneath an inscription read  _ gone but never forgotten _ . 

Gently, Moss lowered himself onto the grass, sitting cross-legged facing the gravestone, the same position he’d been in when he spoke to his father for the last time. The flowers his mother had placed this morning were still there. The cherry blossoms were starting to fall, surrounding the grave with delicate pink flowers. The spring sunlight was just breaking through the blossoms of the trees, bouncing off the gravestone. It was quite a pretty sight, really. 

“Hi, Dad,” he said, taking his backpack off and setting it in front of him. He pulled out his lunch, starting slowly to eat. “I know I was here earlier, but Mum was with me and she gets uncomfortable if we’re here for too long.” He paused, taking a bite out of his sandwich. “She still loves you, though.” He smiled at the gravestone. “And she misses you. We both do.” 

He took a few minutes to eat his food, watching a few cherry blossoms float to the ground. “Roy brought me here,” he said quietly. “He’s waiting round the corner.” He paused again. “You would have liked him. He’s kind, and he might not seem like it all the time but he’s very caring.” 

He waited, almost like his father was going to suddenly rise from the grave and respond to him. Of course, he didn’t. Moss looked back down at the grave. “Would you have minded, Dad? That I’m gay?” A pause. “I still haven’t told Mum. I’m going to have to soon, aren’t I?” He made a face. “I know, I know. I should have told her years ago. It’s just…” he tried to think, but nothing came to mind. “Roy is the  _ one _ , the one you and Mum are always talking about. I know he is. Really, you would have loved him. You would have got on so well. He’s not like Jack, or Josie, or Zach. He’s my best friend in the world, and I wish we could be more, but…” He cut himself off with a sigh. He shook his head, glancing down at the floor. “It’s not going to happen.” 

He shrugged, shoving his empty lunchbox back into his bag. He hoisted it onto his back, standing up with a groan and shaking the pins and needles out of his leg. He turned to go, but then turned back, reaching forward and resting his hand on top of the gravestone. “Love you, Dad.” 

Before he could get too emotional, he turned on his heel and marched back towards the pathway. He was nearly halfway there when he stopped, turning and sprinting back to the grave. He collapsed back down in front of it, reaching forward and resting one hand against the cool stone. A single tear rolled down his cheek. 

Maybe he could stay for a little while longer. 

***

Really, he didn’t realise he’d fallen asleep until he was woken up by the shrill ringtone of his phone. 

He awoke with a start, groaning at the pain in his stiff neck. He’d been sitting up against the gravestone, his cheek leaning on top of it, and now his face was all cold on one side. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes, reaching for his phone. He pulled it out of his pocket, not bothering to look at the caller ID before answering. “Yep?” 

“Moss? You alright?” 

It was Roy, of course. He sounded anxious, like he was worried or something. 

“I think so?” Moss said drowsily. He squinted as he sat up properly and the sun hit his eyes. 

“You’ve been gone for nearly two hours,” Roy said. There was rustling in the background, and he heard a car door slam. 

“I think I fell asleep,” Moss replied, shaking out his stiff limbs. “Sorry, I know you’ve probably gone back, but--”

“No, I’m still here,” Roy cut in. Moss could hear crunching gravel in the background of the call. “Where are you?” 

“Stay where you are!” he blurted, scrambling upwards and quickly brushing himself off. His cheeks were sticky with dried tears, but there wasn’t much he could do about that now. 

“Moss--” 

“I’ll be there in a minute!” 

He frantically smashed the hang up button, casting one last look back at the gravestone before barrelling it out of there and back onto the main path, sprinting up towards the entrance. He was so busy running and panicking that he didn’t even realise Roy was there until he ran right into him. 

_ Roy has a surprisingly strong jaw,  _ Moss thought as his forehead bounced off of it, and the force of the impact sent him reeling backwards onto his arse. He groaned, putting a hand to his head. 

“Shit,” Roy murmured. He quickly hauled Moss up, brushing him off before standing awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, I think so,” Moss said, shaking his head. They began to walk back towards the entrance. “Has Jen said anything?” 

“We’ve both got the afternoon off,” Roy said. Moss shot him a look. “So I’ll drop you off home?” 

“S-sure,” Moss stuttered, looking down at the ground. He was running through the conversation he’d had with his father--well, his father’s grave--in his head. Did Roy know? That was a stupid question, really, because there was no way Roy could possibly know. He’d been in the car the whole time. He couldn’t know. 

“You’re gonna be okay, aren’t you?” the Irishman asked. Moss nodded, looking up at his best friend. “Seriously, Moss.” 

“I’ll be fine,” he said. 

Roy nodded, but he didn’t look too convinced. 

***

The car ride home was possibly one of the most awkward trips of Moss’ life. Roy didn’t look at him,barely said a word to him in fact. Moss had so much he wanted to say, but every time he opened his mouth to say anything the words wouldn’t come out. Instead he settled for staring out of the window, watching the other cars go past as they made their way towards his house. 

Neither of them said a word to each other until Roy pulled up outside of Moss’ house. His mother wasn’t home: she was still at work. 

“Call me if you need anything,” Roy said. Moss nodded again, grabbing his bag from the floor. Just before he could get out of the car, Roy caught his arm and fixed him with a look. Moss squinted at him, trying to figure out what the look meant, but just as he thought he was getting there, the look was gone and Roy was just smiling at him. He managed a quick smile back before jumping out of the car, unlocking the front door and running inside as fast as he could. 

Ah, home. The only place where he could be himself--when his mother wasn’t there! He leant against the door, breathing out a sigh of relief as he listened to Roy’s car roar off down the road away from him. Thank God. Maybe now he could try and think a little clearer. He could never think properly when Roy was around. Everything was almost clouded, because when Roy was around nothing but him mattered. Constantly, Moss was desperate to prove to Roy that he was always there, that  _ he could be enough _ , but Roy never seemed to get the hint. Who knows? Maybe Moss just wasn’t very good at subtlety. Or maybe he was  _ too  _ good? Either way, it spelt disaster for any chance of a relationship with Roy. 

He sighed again, locking the door behind him before heading upstairs to his bedroom. He followed his routine with careful, methodical and meticulous care: unpacking his bag, putting away his computers, going downstairs and making sure his lunchbox was in the dishwasher. Everything needed to be done and it needed to be done  _ right _ . In the half an hour it took him to do everything that needed to be done, he calmed down immensely, his mind quieting as his thoughts were overtaken by the memory of what needed doing. 

He remained in this state of calm by doing every bit of housework that needed doing. Dusting, hoovering, polishing: you name it, Moss did it. Even when that was all done and the house was spotless, he wasn’t finished. He ended up baking a banana loaf, his mother’s favourite. 

Well, if he was going to break her heart, he might as well provide her with baked goods to drown her sorrows in. 

He was nervous. Of course he was. He’d been thinking and contemplating and planning this since he was fourteen years old. It was near-possible to remove the anxiety he’d attached to the issue over the years, but the distractions were helping. A bit. Everything was a bit… up in the air today. 

He whistled a random tune to himself as he donned oven gloves and extracted the banana loaf. Hopefully it would go a little better than last time, when half of it had stuck to the tin and it had turned out looking like it had just been involved in a rather violent bar fight. No, he’d remembered the greaseproof paper this time, so it should be okay. 

Baking was a strange one. On the one hand, Moss enjoyed it immensely as it was very precise, and everything had its place and routine. On the other, it could be messy and wholly unpredictable at times.  _ That  _ he found confusing and annoying (much like swimming). Banana bread played very closely to these. Measurements needed to be precise so it wasn’t a sloppy, inedible mess, but once it was in the oven, it was anybody’s guess. 

This one turned out just fine, though. Moss breathed a sigh of relief when he upended the tin and it came out in one smooth motion onto the plate. He was just putting the tin in to soak when he heard the front door bang and his mother call his name. 

Into battle. 

“Hi, mum!” he called back, untying his apron and taking it off in one clean go, throwing it on the side before going out into the hallway to greet her. She was taking her shoes off and eyeing him suspiciously. 

“It’s only five,” she said. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” 

“Jen gave me the afternoon off,” he replied, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Thankfully, his mother didn’t ask any more questions, nodding and moving around him to put her shoes away. 

“Oh, you made banana bread!” she shouted happily from the kitchen. “Thank you, my love.” 

He waited for her to come into the room before saying anything. She was smiling at him, and he wasn’t sure if it was fake or not, but it still filled him with a sense of dread. Would that smile disappear? 

“Mum, I need to talk to you about something,” he said. She nodded, but the smile stayed the same. Ah. 

“We’ll talk later, okay sweetheart?” she answered, patting him on the shoulder and making to move around him. He stepped in her way. “Moss--” 

“This is important!” he said, resisting the urge to stamp his foot like a toddler. She gave him a look, sighing. 

“Can it not wait?” 

He shook his head. With another heavy sigh, she nodded her head, walking over and sitting on the sofa before looking up at him expectantly. He took a shaky breath, coming over and sitting next to her. 

“Do you remember when I went on that residential in Year 10?” he started. She nodded.

“You had such a good time on that, when you came back you and Morgan were virtually inseparable! I still don’t know why--” 

“Mum!” he said as forcefully as possible, cutting her off. She blinked at him, confused and surprised. “Can you let me speak?” 

“Okay…” she said, trailing the word out. 

“I… realised something during that trip. I wasn’t sure about it until I dated Josie--” 

“God, she was a  _ lovely  _ girl,” his mother cut in again, apparently unable to help herself. Moss suppressed a scream of annoyance, glaring at her. She fell silent again, mouthing an apology to him. 

“This is the thing, mum,” he said before pausing, taking a deep breath and fixing his gaze onto the fabric of the sofa. “You’ve always wanted to know why I never went out with Morgan, or why Josie and I broke up… it’s because, well… it’s because…” 

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t! His chest was getting tight and he could feel his eyes filling with tears. Blinking them back, he took a moment to try and think of how to phrase it. His mother leant forward, resting her hand on his knee. It took everything he had not to push her away. 

“Whatever it is, I still love you,” she murmured. He winced, but nodded.

“I’m gay.” 

It surprised him, really, that it was as simple as that in the end. All these years he’d thought about how many ways he could have explained it, could have told her, but in the end it was just the two little words. Once he’d said it,though, he found himself unable to look at his mother. He didn’t want to see what she was thinking. Instead he screwed his eyes tightly shut. 

It felt like an eternity before anything happened. His mother didn’t make a sound for a while, and if it hadn’t been for her hand on his knee he would have thought she had gone. After a minute or two, her hand moved to rest on his cheek. Cautiously, he opened his eyes. She was smiling at him. 

“I love you, Moss,” she said. “And I didn’t lie when I said that nothing will ever change that.” 

She pulled him into a tight hug. Out of surprise more than anything else, he wrapped her arms around her, letting out a confused chuckle. 

“You’re okay with it?” he asked. She leant back, cupping his face in her hands. 

“Of course. You’re my baby boy and I’ll always love you no matter what.” 

He smiled at her.

“Thank you, Mum,” he said, giving her his best grateful look and clutching her hands in his. She smiled softly back at him. “Really.” 

With one last smile she let his face go, suddenly looking excited. 

“Oo, we can start going to all those Pride parades!” she exclaimed happily. Moss made a face. “I’ve always thought they looked so lovely, and--” 

“Mum!” He cut her off, putting his hands over her’s. “I love your enthusiasm, but I want to keep this… quiet. Just for now, okay?” 

His mum looked slightly disappointed but nodded, getting up and going towards the kitchen. 

“Oh, your Aunty Barbra’s coming round in a bit, can I tell her?” she called back. 

He groaned, getting up and following her. Not Aunty Barbra. He  _ really  _ didn’t like Aunty Barbra. She always insisted on sitting right next to him and messing with his hair or his clothes, or just about anything she could get her hands on. 

“Don’t tell Aunty Barbra,” he said. 

“Why not?” his mother asked with a pout. “She won’t mind!” 

“But the  _ questions _ !” he groaned. She giggled at him. “Fine, you can tell her, just so long as I don’t have to talk to her.”

“You have to talk to your Aunty!” she said, affronted. “For fifteen minutes, at least.” 

“Two.” 

“Ten.” 

“Five.” 

“Done.” 

They shook on it, as was their custom whenever they made a deal like this. 

“She’s not staying for dinner, is she?” Moss asked as he opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of chocolate milk. His mother shook her head, coming forward and taking the carton from him. He looked at her, betrayed. 

“No, she’s not,” she said. “But you are, so don’t go spoiling your appetite.” 

He pouted, but knew better than to argue with his mother. 

“How long is she staying?” 

“She’s only popping round for a cup of tea.”

“So three hours, then.” 

She hit him with a tea towel, glaring at him. He grinned a little cheekily back. She tutted but she was smiling, so he knew she wasn’t really annoyed with him. “I went to see Dad again during lunch.” 

“Did you?” she said, her voice rising by about an octave. 

“He wouldn’t have minded, would he? About all of this?” 

“Of course he wouldn’t have,” she said. She gently moved him out of the way to get the vegetables from the fridge. “He always said he’d love you no matter what.” 

“I really can’t believe how okay you are with it,” he said with a nervous laugh. “I thought you’d be upset.” 

“Of course not,” she replied. “It’s your choice and your life, and I support you no matter what.” She turned to him, pointing at him with a carrot. “Just don’t think this gets you out of giving me grandchildren, mister.” 

He laughed and nodded along with her. 

***

They were just finishing their dinner when his mother’s phone went off, signalling that Barbra’s arrival was imminent. 

“Wash up and then stick the kettle on, will you?” his mother said, shoving the dirty plates at him. He nodded, suppressing a sigh and going into the kitchen. He dumped the plates in the dishwasher before getting out three cups out of the cupboard and clicking the kettle on. Five minutes, that’s all he had to get through, then he could cite some  _ “computer nonsense”  _ (as his mother put it) and disappear upstairs. Five minutes of  _ hell _ , though. 

There she was now. He could hear her and his mother squealing at each other, complimenting each other’s appearance and generally acting as if they hadn’t seen each other for years on end. He sighed, bracing himself. 

“Maurice!” Barbra squealed as she came tottering into the kitchen on heels that were far too tall for her, throwing her arms around his neck. He glared at his mother over her shoulder, but all she did was smile at him and mouth  _ be nice _ . “God, you’re taller every time I see you!” 

Barbra was his mother’s younger sister. Ten years younger than his mother, she had only been fifteen when Moss had been born, but now she was fifty-two, recently divorced from her wealthy second husband and with a heavy alimony settlement. She was nice enough, Moss supposed, and when he was a child and she had just been divorced from her first wealthy husband she had treated him to many expensive toys. She was just  _ nosy _ . Very, very nosy. 

“I haven’t grown for nearly twenty years,” he murmured as she let him go. “Hi, Aunty Barbra.” 

“God, it’s lovely to see you both,” Barbra said, beaming at the two of them. The kettle finally boiled, giving Moss an excuse to turn away from the two of them. They continued to chatter away right in his ear, only stopping briefly when he handed them their drinks. 

“So, have you got yourself a girlfriend yet?” Barbra asked him. She and his mother were sitting on the sofa, and he was loitering by the stairs. His mother shot him an excited look. He sighed heavily, shaking his head. 

“No, I haven’t,” he said. “I, er, I have to go…” his mind suddenly went blank, and he couldn’t remember any computer problems, so he said the first thing that came to mind. “RAM emergency at work that I have to deal with.” 

He turned before Barbra could say anything and bolted upstairs. He waited by his bedroom door, listening as his mother excitedly told her sister his news. He heard Barbra gasp, and then say, 

“Well we always did say he was the one in the family most likely to be gay!” 

Oh.  _ That’s  _ why his mother had been so okay with it: she’d been expecting it. Part of him found that a little comforting, but another part of him was wondering why she didn’t just tell him her suspicions. It certainly would have helped him along a bit quicker! He chuckled, shaking his head as he went into his bedroom. 

Task one down. 

***

The next day at work, he bypassed his desk completely and marched into Jen’s office, shutting the door behind him and sitting down heavily in front of her. 

“Morning, Moss,” Jen said, looking up from her computer. “Is Roy not in yet?” 

“No,” Moss said with a pout. “He probably drank himself into a stupor and spent last night rutting with some random woman he found in the pub.” 

“Woah, where’s all this hostility come from?” Jen exclaimed with a chuckle. He shrugged, folding his arms across his chest. 

“I wasn’t looking for Roy. I wanted to talk to you.” 

She looked confused, turning fully away from her computer to face him. 

“Please don’t tell me this is about going back downstairs again,” she groaned. “Moss, I told you, I can’t--” 

“I’m gay.” 

It felt almost euphoric to be able to say it so openly now. Before he’d try and avoid the issue, change the subject, but here he was bringing it out into the open. He felt almost proud of himself. 

Jen was gaping at him. If her jaw could have hit the desk, it probably would have. 

“You’re  _ gay _ ?” she repeated. 

“Yes, Jen, do keep up,” he replied. 

“I’m sorry,  _ what _ !?” she said, goggling at him. “You’re gay? Like,  _ don’t like girls  _ gay?” 

“Is it a problem?” 

“No, no,” she said quickly. “God no. It’s just… wow.” She let out a sigh, leaning back in her chair. “When did you realise? During the gay musical?” 

“No, when I was fourteen,” he said. “This girl, Morgan Robertson, kissed me and--” 

“Hang on,” Jen interrupted. “Morgan Robertson? As in head on Robertson and Co. Industries?” 

“Oh, did her dad retire?” Moss asked with a smile. 

“You  _ know  _ her?” 

“We were best friends for about four years, but we haven’t talked for nearly twenty years.” 

“Oh my God, I need your help,” Jen said. She rifled through the papers on her desk and handed him a few papers that looked like contracts. “We’re trying to organise a deal with them and they’re being a nightmare. Can you talk to her for me? Try and sort out a deal?” 

“Okay?” Moss said, feeling more than a little flustered. She grinned at him, inputting the number into her office phone and waiting for it to ring. 

“Hi, can I speak to Morgan Robertson, please?” A pause. “Yeah, it’s Jen, Jen Barber, from Reynholm Industries?” Another pause. “Alright great, thank you.” 

Whilst they waited for the call to connect, Jen smiled at him, her eyes bright and excited. “Hello, Ms Robertson? Yeah, it’s Jen Barber again. How are you?” She waited for a moment. “Good, good thanks. Listen, I’ve got someone here I want you to talk to, is that alright?” A moment. “Alright, great! I’ll just pass you over.” 

A big grin on her face, she handed him the phone before giving him two thumbs up. He shot a confused look and took the phone, handing it to his ear.

“Hi, Morgan,” he said. 

“Do my ears deceive me or is that Maurice Moss I’m hearing?” Morgan exclaimed on the other end of the line. 

“The very same,” he said with a smile. 

“It’s been what, twenty years?” 

“Eighteen, actually.” 

“My God, we cannot have this catch up over the phone,” she said, sounding excited. “Can you do lunch? At the cafe we used to go to when we were at school?” 

“Sounds good,” Moss replied, smiling softly. “I have so much to tell you.” 

***

The first thing he thought upon seeing Morgan was  _ I don’t think she’s aged since I last saw her.  _

Indeed, she was remarkably unchanged. Obviously there were a few wrinkles and laughter lines etched into her forehead, but she barely looked a day over twenty-five. She waved to him, jogging over and immediately enveloping in a tight hug. He reciprocated straight away. He could smell her shampoo on her hair: it was still coconut. 

“I’ve missed you  _ so  _ much,” she said as they took their old seats in the cafe. It was still run by the same woman, who had seemed pleasantly surprised to see the two of them back there together. “So, what have you been up to?” 

Over their meals, he told her all about university, the debacle with Zach, and some of the other scrapes he’d gotten into, but he paused, blushing and looking down when he reached the first day at Reynholm Industries. 

“Yeah?” Morgan prompted him, gesturing at him with her fork. 

“So I was sitting in this empty office, and then there’s this voice at the door,” he said. He glanced up at her. “He’s the one, Morgan. I know it.” 

“Shut up,” she gasped. “You found the one. Like, the  _ one _ , the one?” 

He nodded, a small smile on his face. “That’s great, Moss! Why do you look so upset about it?” 

“He’s straight,” he said. Her face fell. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Well, we have kissed…” 

“When?” she squealed, bouncing up and down in her seat. He chuckled. 

“Once when we were very drunk in Amsterdam before hiring prostitutes and taking them to a fair,” he explained. “And twice more when we were trying to run away from the police when he’d accidentally helped some proper men rob a bank.” 

“Well I definitely want to know the stories behind them,” she said. “But back to the matter in hand. So you have kissed?”

“Yes.” 

“And how much time do you spend with this guy?” 

“A lot. We tried to meet other people once, but that ended up with us nearly being eaten by a German cannibal, so we decided not to bother anymore.” 

She shook her head, chuckling. 

“Sounds like you’ve got a shot,” she commented. 

“And how would you know?” he shot back. 

“I’m getting married in September,” she said. She held out her hand for him to examine the ring. “I’ve got a wonderful fiance and a beautiful daughter, but when my fiance first tried to get with me, I thought she was straight as well! Turned out I was just oblivious.” 

Getting out her phone, she turned it towards him. Her lock screen was a picture of her with a beautiful brunette woman and a young girl who Moss had to presume was her daughter. They were a gorgeous little family, all beaming and looking as happy as Larry. 

“They’re both beautiful,” he said appreciatively. 

“Thank you,” she replied with a smile. “What’s this guy’s name, then?” 

“Um, Roy. Roy Trenneman.” 

“Oh, Small Person Racist?” 

“That was a misunderstanding!” 

She laughed, shaking her head at him. 

“I know, Moss,” she said. “He’s quite pretty, isn’t he? In the right light?” 

He nodded shyly, feeling a blush come over his cheeks. “You have to go for it, Moss. Nobody ever got anywhere in life staying quiet, did they?” 

“No, I suppose not,” he said. 

She nodded, looking satisfied with herself. 

“Done anything else interesting, then?” 

“I won Countdown a few years ago.” 

“ _ What _ !?” 

***

He came back from lunch with Morgan with a promise of a proper look at a decent deal, a wedding invite ( _ “And I want you to bring this Roy with you as your date!” _ ) and a big smile on his face. Jen ambushed him as soon as he walked into the office, and seemed delighted when he told her that a proper deal was on the table. Just as he settled at his desk, Roy sidled over, stirring a coffee with a wooden stirrer. 

“I didn’t know you knew Morgan Robertson,” he said.

“Yes,” Moss replied, unsure of what else to say. “It was nice to see her again.” 

“Anything going to happen with you two?” Roy asked, pulling up a seat and sitting down at the edge of Moss’ desk. Moss sighed, shaking his head. 

“She’s engaged, Roy.” 

“That’s a--” 

“To another woman.” 

“Ah,” Roy said, shutting his mouth and looking suitably guilty. “Sorry. It’s just that Jen said you two used to go out?”

“We kissed  _ one  _ time,” Moss said, his voice just slightly whiny. “We never ‘went out’.” 

“Still a shame though, eh?” Roy said. “She’s a stunner, she is.” 

“Roy, I’m gay, I wouldn’t know,” Moss snapped. He was suddenly so annoyed, and whilst he had been planning to have a long and complicated conversation with Roy about the issue, he found himself impatient. Roy looked affronted, probably because he wasn’t used to Moss taking that tone with him. 

“Well sorry, Mister--” he cut himself off as the realisation kicked in. Moss looked down at the desk as he realised what he’d just done.  _ Shit _ . It wasn’t supposed to have been as abrupt as that. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?” 

“I’m gay?” he repeated, his voice breaking slightly. Roy started, actually  _ physically  _ started, leaning backwards and gaping at his best friend. Moss clasped his hands on his lap, staring down at his shoes. “I haven’t really told anyone and I was never sure how to--” 

“What about the therapist?” Roy cut in. “The lonely hearts website? Ivana?” 

“Roy, I’m trying to explain to you how I’ve been lying to myself for years here, could you try not to interrupt?” Moss said. Roy paled, nodding and murmuring an apology. “Thank you.” He looked up at his best friend. “I never knew how to tell anyone, and it just seemed easier to pretend instead of facing up to it.” 

“Pretend, yeah,” Roy mumbled. He had the vegetable face on him. Moss paused, looking at him properly. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. Roy looked quickly up at him, nodding. “It’s just you’ve got the same face--” 

“I think I just realised something,” Roy said quietly. Moss pursed his lips, looking at him. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom. Not to cry,” he added quickly. “Just to… yeah.” 

Before Moss could say anything else, Roy jumped up and practically ran out of the office. Moss watched him go, debating whether to after him but eventually thinking better of it. He knew that look. That was a sexuality crisis in the making. Part of him was glad that he’d gone through the majority of that when he was younger, because he could hardly imagine the dreadful shift Roy must have been going through, thinking he was straight his entire life and then suddenly realising that maybe he wasn’t. 

“Jen!” he called, leaning back to look into her open door. 

“Yeah?” she shouted back. 

“Roy’s having a sexuality crisis, I’m going to go and check on him,” he said. 

“Oh, I was wondering when that was going to happen!” she replied. “Take your time.” 

He grinned at her, getting up and making his way to the bathroom. 

The men’s was deserted. They had used to have intersex toilets, but when Douglas had come in he’d separated them: something about enjoying the challenge of trying to sneak into women’s toilets. Moss was glad he was banished away from the leadership part of the company. It was pretty clean in there (the toilet guys still did a great job) but barely anyone ever seemed to go in there. Moss had used it got his own private mini-breakdowns for the past few years, and it filled with a strange sort of pride that Roy had picked the same place to have his crisis. 

The stall door furthest from the door was closed, and Moss could hear muffled sobbing. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Moss strode forward and gently knocked on the door. 

“Roy? Are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” Roy said through the door, his voice pinched and far too high pitched. Moss raised an eyebrow, waiting. “No, not really.” 

“What’s wrong?” Moss asked. He knew full well what was wrong, but it was better to be polite. Let Roy think he was telling him on  _ his  _ terms. 

“Well, it’s just what you were sayin’ about lying to yourself…” Roy said. He paused, choking back a sob. Moss made a small noise to let him know that he was still listening. “I’m confused, Moss. Really, really confused.” 

“Okay, okay…” Moss said comfortingly. His heart was hammering, though. Was Morgan right? Did he have a chance? “How long have you been feeling like this?” 

“I don’t know,” Roy said with a sniff. “Twelve, thirteen years, maybe?” 

“Have you ever talked to anyone about it?” 

“Did you?” 

“When I was first questioning, yes,” Moss said. “I talked to Morgan.” 

“But I don’t have anyone like that!” Roy exclaimed. It sounded like he was crying again. Moss leaned forward, resting his palm flat against the door. 

“You have me,” he said softly. 

“Moss, we’re friends, right?” Roy whispered after a moment of silence. Moss nodded. 

“Best friends.” 

“And nothing will change that?” 

“You know it won’t.” 

“Then you won’t mind if I do this?” 

Before Moss could react, the stall door was opening and Roy was pushing him up against the opposite wall, pulling him forward by his shirt and pressing their lips together. Completely flustered, Moss couldn’t do anything but kiss him back, letting his hands come to rest on Roy’s hips. Helping his best friend out with a sexuality crisis he had been ready for: snogging him in the bathroom at work he most certainly had not been. 

Not that he was complaining, of course. 

After a few minutes of absolute euphoria, Roy broke away and Moss opened his eyes again. They looked at each other and then burst into giggles, unable to help themselves. Roy leant forward, resting his forehead against his best friend’s. 

“I never should have stopped you in Amsterdam,” he murmured. 

“It would have saved a lot of faff,” Moss replied. Roy made a face, but soon smiled again and nodded. “Roy… what does this make us?” 

“I’m not sure,” Roy said, cupping Moss’ cheek with his hand. “Whatever we are… we can take it slow, right? I really like you, I do, but I’m still so confused and--” 

Moss cut him off with a gentle kiss. 

“Whatever you want, Roy.” 

Roy smiled at him, letting his shirt go and stepping away to allow Moss to straighten himself up. 

“We don’t have to tell Jen, do we?” the Irishman said fearfully. Moss chuckled, shaking his head. 

“Lord no! Half of London would know by teatime.” 

Roy laughed, leaning forward and pecking Moss on the lips before splashing some water on his face and walking back out of the bathroom. Moss followed him, feeling a little awestruck. 

He had found the one after all. 

***

Half an hour after returning to their desks, Moss’ phone pinged. It was Roy, of course.

_ Do u want to go out tonight? Like a date sorta thing?? Xx _

He looked up to Roy, who wiggled his eyebrows and looked back down at his phone. 

_ Can we just stay in and watch a movie at your place? Xx _

_ Sounds good. I’ll make the popcorn xx _

_ I’m looking forward to it xx _

“What’s got into you two?” Jen said from the coffee machine. They both looked up from their phone, identical beaming grins on their faces. “You’re all jolly.” 

“It’s just a good day,” Roy said, glancing at Moss, who blushed and looked down at his desk with a smile. Jen looked between the two of them and then gasped, gesturing between them. 

“You two--!” she exclaimed, and she would have said more if Roy hadn’t got up and pushed her into her office, Moss hot on his heels closing the door behind them. “When!? How!?  _ What _ !?” 

“How did you know?” Roy hissed, looking unduly distressed. Moss shifted awkwardly by the door. “How could you  _ possibly  _ know?” 

“You two are like... beaming puppies,” Jen said. “You might as well have been snogging each other in the middle of the office!” 

“Oh God, is it  _ that  _ obvious?” Roy asked. 

“Yes,” Jen replied matter-of-factly. 

“You cannot tell anyone,” the Irishman said. Jen rolled her eyes. “Nobody, Jen.” 

“Why not?” Jen asked. 

That stumped him. He opened his mouth to answer, but when nothing came to mind he closed it again, glancing towards Moss in desperation. Moss shrugged, clearly having no clue either. 

“Just don’t,” Roy eventually said. 

“It’s 2014, Roy, nobody cares,” Jen replied, starting to type away on her computer. “Moss, do you mind if anybody knows?” 

Moss’ eyes widened. He hadn’t been expecting to be put on the spot like that. He glanced between the other two. 

“Well, not really,” he said, his voice small. “But if Roy doesn’t want anyone to know then that’s okay by me.” 

“Roy, why don’t you want anyone to know?” Jen asked, turning back to the Irishman. Roy shrugged, shaking his head and collapsing despairingly into the chair in front of Jen’s desk. 

“I don’t know!” he said. “It’s… complicated.” 

“Honestly, no-one will care,” she told him. “The girls on seven will probably be grateful that you won’t be hitting on them anymore.” 

“But how do you know that?” 

“Roy, trust me,” she said, fixing him with a look. “It won’t be a huge deal.” 

Roy looked uncertain but nodded anyway. The two of them both knew that no matter what they said, Jen was probably going to tell people anyway. They glanced at each other, exchanging a look. “God, two of you are so in love it’s sickening. Get out of my office and make sure to invite me to the wedding,” Jen said, getting up and shooing them out, closing the door in their faces. 

“You think she’s right?” Roy asked as they traipsed back to their desks. Moss shrugged, taking a seat. 

“Not sure. I suppose we’ll find out, though.” 

***

As it turned out, Jen was actually…  _ right _ . They got a couple of  _ “congratulations!”  _ and a few smiles as they walked out of the building, and Roy had said one or two people had commented that it was  _ “about time!”  _ when he went to fix their computers, but other than that there was little-to-no reaction. Roy seemed stunned the entire car ride back to his flat, occasionally chuckling and shaking his head as he looked out of the windshield. Moss was just messing around on his phone, playing a knock-off version of Flappy Bird. Sometimes he would make small annoyed noises, and Roy would look at him with nothing but adoration in his eyes. 

“When did you come out to your mum, then?” Roy asked. They’d been stuck in a traffic jam for the past fifteen minutes, and it wasn’t looking like they were going to be moving anytime soon. Moss looked up from his phone, smiling brightly at him. “I’m guessing way before everyone else.” 

“No, only last night,” Moss said. 

“And she’s okay with it?” 

“She says she is.” Moss shrugged. “She wants to go to Pride and all sorts.” 

“Don’t think my mam is going to be quite as enthusiastic when I tell her,” Roy said, his tone suddenly melancholy. Moss clicked his phone off, slipping it into his pocket. 

“Why not?” he asked. “Aren’t the two of you close?” 

“Well, yeah, but…” Roy said, faltering for a moment. “She’s quite traditional, Moss. I just don’t know if she’ll be happy with me… y’know…” 

“Dating another man?” Moss finished for him. Roy winced a little, nodding.”Well… she loves you, right?” 

“What kind of a question is that?” Roy exclaimed, a little outraged. 

“Then it might take her a little while, but she’ll get over it,” Moss said, persevering anyway. Roy gave him a strange look, and took a moment to mull this over. 

“You reckon?” he said after a moment. He sounded hopeful. Moss nodded. Roy smiled at him, reaching over and clasping his hand in his. 

“Oh!” Moss said, suddenly remembering. “We have a wedding to go to in September.” 

Roy groaned theatrically, slumping in his seat. 

“Whose?” he asked. 

“Morgan’s.” 

“Wait a minute,” Roy said as the car inched forward a little and then stopped again. “You have an invite to  _ Morgan Robertson’s  _ wedding?” 

“Yes, Moss said, a little confused. Roy puffed his cheeks out, shaking his head. 

“You’re full of bloody surprises today, aren’t you?” 

Moss hit him, but there was no force behind it. Roy chuckled, catching his hand and pressing a kiss to it. Moss smiled, cheeks flushing a little. 

“Wait until we’re back at your’s.” 

***

Moss had been to Roy’s flat a million times now, but for some reason he couldn’t help but feel excited as Roy unlocked the door and let him in. He took his shoes off and left them by the door with his bag and coat, going into the living room to wait as Roy went into the kitchen to fetch snacks. To pass the time, he got out his phone with the aim of scrolling through Friendface for a little bit, but instead found that he had no less than twenty messages from his mother, all demanding to know where he was. Shoot. He’d meant to tell her. He sent her a quick message back telling her that he was going to be at Roy’s until late, and not to wait up for him. After a minute or two, he got a message back that simply read  _ “Be safe” _ . He shook his head, pocketing his phone just as Roy came back into the room. He was carrying popcorn and a takeaway menu. 

“I was thinking we could get pizza,” he said, sitting down next to Moss. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to, though, I’m sure there’s plenty of--” 

“Roy?” 

“Yes?” 

“Shut up,” Moss murmured, leaning forward and kissing him gently. Roy dropped the menu, his hands going straight to Moss’ back, pulling him closer. Moss could have happily stayed there kissing Roy all night, the two of them pressed together under the low lamplight of Roy’s living room. However, after merely five minutes, Roy broke away. Moss pouted a little, looking at him. Roy chuckled, reaching forward and delicately straightening Moss’ askew glasses. 

“I think I love you, Moss,” he whispered. 

Moss flew forward, pulling Roy into a tight, near-suffocating hug. Roy hugged him straight back, and they stayed like that for a while, holding each other close. 

“I love you too,” Moss murmured in Roy’s ear. “I love you  _ so  _ much.” 

Roy made a small, choked sound. It sounded uncannily like a sob. “Are you crying?” 

“Happy tears,” Roy mumbled. “Happy tears, baby.” 

Who was Moss to blame him? He was so happy that he could almost cry himself. 

Everyone had been right. It may have taken a lot of heartbreak, a long time, a lot of pining and a few bumps along the way, but Maurice Moss had found his perfect match. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly guys, I've had an absolute blast writing this. It's the first time I've made a plan and a schedule, stuck to it and finished a project. Paving the path hopefully lol!!
> 
> Look, I really hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Stay safe and healthy, y'all Xxxx


	10. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a sweet little tidbit to leave us on

**_Four months later: September_ **

“Smile!” 

The camera light flashed, and Moss did his very best not to blink. 

Morgan’s wedding had been simply lovely so far. It was an all-day outdoor affair, risky during early autumn in Britain, but the Gods had smiled down on Morgan and Leanne and it had been nothing but sunshine all day. Moss had found out two months before the wedding that he was to be Morgan’s best man ( _ “for helping me realise that it was okay to be perfectly, unashamedly myself at all times when I was younger” _ ) and that meant a whirlwind of suit fittings, speech writing and preparing for dozens upon dozens of pictures. Moss’ mother had also been invited, and so far she had spent the whole day mothering both Moss and Morgan. Morgan’s little girl Isabella was both flower girl and chief (and only) bridesmaid, and their King Charles Spaniel Pablo was acting as ring bearer. Leanne was wonderful too, and her and Roy got on like a house on fire. 

Hopefully, though, this would be the last picture. They had been at it for an hour and a half now. 

“Okay, that’s all the formals, folks!” the photographer called, fiddling with his camera. Moss let out a sigh of relief, turning to his boyfriend with a grin. 

“Thank God that’s over,” he said. Roy laughed, wrapping his arms around him. 

“You did great,” the Irishman said. They kissed quickly as the brides approached them. 

“I can’t thank you enough, Moss,” Morgan said. She gave him a quick look, he nodded and she pulled him into a short, one-armed hug. “You’re still okay to give the speech?” 

“Of course,” he replied, patting his top pocket. “I hope you won’t be disappointed.” 

“Oh, of course I won’t be!” she exclaimed, kissing him on the cheek and looping her arm in her wife’s. Leanne grinned at her.

“Hopefully the next wedding we’ll be at is you two’s,” Leanne commented. Laughing at the boys’ deer-in-headlights expressions, she turned to Morgan and said, “come on, wifey, let’s go and mingle with our guests.” 

***

Morgan and Leanne didn’t have a sit-down dinner: instead, they decided that they would bin away with all that nonsense and just have a barbecue instead. There were burgers, sausages, chicken legs, steaks, even a huge hog roast rotating in the corner of the field manned by one overwhelmed-looking teenager. It was quite nice, Moss thought as he chewed thoughtfully on his burger. Every wedding he’d been dragged to as a child had been stuffy and boring, and almost all of them had ended in divorce. This seemed much happier. 

“How are they gonna do the speeches?” Roy asked through a mouthful of food. They were sat side-by-side on their suit jackets on a grassy slope, no doubt ruining their clothes but neither of them giving a single shit. 

“I think Morgan said they were going to get everyone in the marquee,” Moss said after he’d swallowed. “Do the speeches, cut the cake, first dance, that sort of thing.” 

“I never realised weddings could be like this,” Roy mused. He leant his head on Moss’ shoulder, looking up at him. “I like it.”

“I like it too,” Moss said, wrapping his arm around his partner’s waist. 

“Moss!” Morgan called from the other side of the field. They both looked up to see Morgan and Leanne beckoning them over. They hauled themselves up, only just remembering to grab their jackets as they walked over to them. “Speeches start in five minutes.” 

“Can I go first, if that’s okay?” Moss asked. The newly married couple nodded.

“I don’t see why not,” Leanne said. Moss smiled at them, nodding his head. 

Five minutes later, Morgan went over to the cake table and retrieved a megaphone. Moss and Roy shot her a concerned look, but she simply rolled her eyes at them and stalked outside. Then they heard her calling for everybody to come inside if they wanted a bit of cake. Of course, everyone quickly descended upon the marquee, and soon it was nearly full. Moss gulped, feeling a little shaky as he looked out over the sea of people. 

“Good, now you’re all here,” Morgan said, coming over to the cake table to stand with Leanne. Roy suddenly realised that he was standing up front with Moss and tried to edge away, but Moss was holding onto his hand with a vice-like grip and he couldn’t move. “Speeches! First up, a guy who was my best friend throughout my teenage years and who taught me that authenticity is always better.” She smiled at Moss. “Pray silence for the best man, Maurice Moss!” 

Moss stepped forward a little, clearing his throat. There were a lot of people in front of him, nearly one hundred in fact. He took a moment to steel himself, and then began to talk. 

“Morgan Robertson deserves only the best. When we were younger, there was no reason for her to be friends with me. She was the most popular girl in school, and I was the nerd who messed around with the Rubix cube at the back of the class. And yet she was friends with me. Her choice. She helped me realise so much about myself. Without her, I wouldn’t be where I am today.” He paused, looking at Roy, who gave him an encouraging smile and squeezed his hand. He glanced over at Leanne. “You’ve got a good one, Leanne. Look after her.” He raised his glass. “To the brides!” 

“To the brides!” the room chorused in unison. 

Later on, after two more speeches that went on for considerably longer than Moss’, the cutting of the cake and the happy couple’s first dance (accompanied by their daughter and dog), Moss and Roy found themselves slow-dancing to some sappy romantic song. There were a few other couples on the dance floor doing the same, but the two of them barely noticed, foreheads pressed together as they tried not to trip over each others’ feet. 

“I love you,” Roy murmured. Moss smiled at him. 

“I love you too.” 

“Would you want to do something like this one day?” the Irishman asked. Moss looked up at him, his eyes glistening with tears and adoration. 

“Of course I would,” he whispered. Roy laughed quietly, leaning down and kissing him softly. 

“Love you.” 

“Love you too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus, it's really over. I can't quite believe it. I got a bit choked up publishing this, ngl. Please leave kudos and comments if you enjoyed, let me know what you thought!! 
> 
> Peace out, y'all. Adios until next time

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! Please drop a kudos or a comment if you enjoyed, I'd love to know what you guys think! Next chapter should be up on Tuesday, maybe earlier if I get my arse in gear. It will be slightly longer, and I'm sorry, but possibly one of the saddest chapters (in my opinion) of the whole fic. Keep your eyes peeled! 
> 
> Later, ya'll. Stay safe and look after yourselves xx


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